ladybug

here to keep the whimsy alive

[junezsq]

set it up

john logan x fem!reader

summary: the four times your friend group tried to set you up with logan, and the one time they find out you’ve been dating the entire time

established relationship

warnings: just pure sappy fluff, usage of y/n

word count: 4.2k

a/n: based on this request! i hope you like it :))

john logan masterlist off campus masterlist

── ᵎᵎ ✦

the funny thing about keeping your relationship with logan a secret was that neither of you had ever actually decided to.

if someone had asked during those first few weeks, you probably would’ve told them. there wasn’t anything scandalous about it. no reason to hide. nobody in your friend group would’ve cared beyond teasing the two of you for a while before eventually moving on.

it just… never came up.

the relationship itself had arrived so quietly that, looking back, neither of you could really pinpoint where friendship had ended and something else had begun.

after hockey season, you’d simply started spending more time together. study sessions that always seemed to run too late to justify walking back to your own dorm straight away. dinners that lasted twice as long as either of you intended because conversation came so easily with him. evenings spent wandering across campus without much destination in mind, filling the silence with the sort of conversations that only happened when neither person felt any pressure to keep talking.

somewhere between spring arriving and final exams looming over campus, he’d walked you back to your dorm after one of your study sessions like he always did.

the conversation had drifted off several minutes earlier, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement and the distant buzz of students enjoying one of the first genuinely warm evenings of the year.

you’d stopped outside your building. he’d looked at you for a moment before kissing you.

it hadn’t been particularly dramatic. there hadn’t been fireworks or declarations or some overwhelming certainty that everything had changed. it had simply felt… right.

afterward, logan had rubbed the back of his neck with the slightest hint of uncertainty before quietly asking if that had been okay. you’d kissed him again instead of answering.

that had been four months ago.

the next morning, you’d still met everyone for breakfast. logan had still sat beside you because he always did. you’d stolen fries from his plate because you always did. he’d walked you back to your dorm after classes because he always did.

the only real difference was that now, when nobody was looking, he’d steal a quick kiss before heading back across campus.

for a while, having something that belonged only to the two of you had been… nice.

your relationship existed outside everyone else’s opinions. there were no questions, no teasing, no constant interruptions every time one of you sat beside the other. it was just yours, tucked quietly into the spaces between lectures and late-night walks and evenings spent curled up together in your dorm.

eventually, though, the novelty faded.

more than once, one of you would look at the other and say, we should probably tell everyone.

the other would agree, but then someone would change the subject, or dinner would arrive, or you’d both forget. the conversation kept being postponed until it somehow became stranger to announce it than not to.

neither of you worried about it, because you assumed everyone would find out eventually. you just hadn’t anticipated it to take so long.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

garrett

practice had run longer than anyone wanted.

by the time coach finally called it, the sun had already started dipping behind the campus buildings, painting long shadows across the parking lot outside the arena. everyone was tired in that familiar, satisfying sort of way that followed a good skate. conversation came easier once helmets were off and sticks had been tossed carelessly into the back of trucks, the intensity of practice gradually giving way to the comfortable rhythm the team always seemed to settle into afterward.

logan adjusted the strap of his hockey bag higher on his shoulder as he stepped out of the rink. he’d texted you nearly an hour earlier.

logan: running late don’t wait if you’re hungry

you: too late already ordered enough fries for both of us x

he’d smiled to himself without really thinking about it.

logan: good

the parking lot had begun emptying by the time he started walking toward campus. several of the guys peeled off in different directions, climbing into cars or heading toward the hockey house, until eventually only garrett remained beside him since they had decided to carpool.

for a while, neither of them spoke. garrett, however, lasted about three more minutes until he felt the need to break the silence, “you know…”

logan glanced over. garrett shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, looking ahead as though the conversation wasn’t particularly important, “y/n’s cool.”

logan nodded once, “yeah.”

garrett continued walking, “i mean it.”

“i know.”

“she’s funny.”

another nod from logan, “she is.”he wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation was going yet.

people complimented their friends all the time. it didn’t seem especially noteworthy. garrett kept talking anyway, “she actually knows hockey.”

“yeah.”

“which is rare.”

logan thought about the number of times you’d sat through games you hadn’t understood at first, asking quiet questions until the rules gradually began making sense. now you caught missed penalties before half the people around you did. you’d been strangely pleased with yourself the first time that happened. he’d been pleased too, though.

“she’s easy to be around,” garrett said.

logan looked at him, “…she is.”

there wasn’t much point pretending otherwise; you were. conversation with you never felt forced, and silence didn’t either. most evenings, the two of you could spend hours together without either of you feeling the need to constantly fill the space between you. logan had never realised how rare that was until he’d found it.

garrett slowed slightly as they reached the crosswalk outside the arena and looked sideways at logan, “you should ask her out.”

the traffic light changed. logan waited for a car to pass before stepping off the curb, “oh, i already did.”

garrett laughed. not the polite sort of laugh people gave when they weren’t sure whether someone was joking. it was a genuine laugh, “yeah?”

logan frowned faintly, “yeah.”

“good one,” garrett laughed again.

for a second, logan wondered whether he’d said something wrong. then he realised garrett thought he was kidding, but before he could explain, garrett was already talking again, “seriously, though, i think you’d really like her.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

hannah

you discovered hannah’s theory by the middle of the semester over afternoon coffee.

the two of you had escaped campus between lectures, ducking into della’s diner. it had become something of an unspoken tradition over the past year. whenever your schedules lined up, you’d spend an hour there together before heading back to class, talking about everything and absolutely nothing until one of you inevitably glanced at the time and realised you were already running late.

that afternoon was no different. hannah was halfway through describing one of garrett’s increasingly questionable cooking experiments when she paused.

her expression shifted ever so slightly. not dramatically, just enough that you’d learned to recognise she was about to say something she’d clearly been thinking about for a while.

she stirred her coffee absentmindedly before looking up, “can i ask you something?”

you nodded, “always.”

her spoon clinked softly against the side of her mug, “have you ever thought about logan?”

thankfully, your coffee was already back on the table, otherwise, you suspected you might’ve dropped it. you blinked as you did your best to keep your expression neutral, “in what way?”

hannah shrugged one shoulder, “in a dating way.”

you hummed thoughtfully, lowering your eyes to your drink before she could read your face too closely, “why are you asking?”

she smiled to herself, “i don’t know.” which, coming from hannah, almost certainly meant she knew exactly why. she tucked one leg beneath herself in the booth before continuing, “i’ve just been watching you two.”

your heart gave the smallest, traitorous little skip. not because you thought she’d figured it out, but because she was far more observant than most people gave her credit for.

you’d spent the last four months being careful. never sitting too close when everyone else was around. never holding hands unless nobody could see. keeping kisses to empty hallways, quiet walks back to your dorm, and the brief moments before one of you inevitably headed home for the night.

you’d convinced yourself nobody had noticed and, for the first time, you wondered if maybe someone had.

hannah rested both hands around her mug, “he always ends up sitting beside you.”

you smiled faintly, “there’s usually a free seat.”

“maybe.” she shrugged, but she looked unconvinced, “but he always notices when you leave the room.”

you hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed that. it happened almost unconsciously; whether you were getting another drink, answering your phone, or stepping away to use the bathroom, his eyes almost always followed you for a second before returning to whatever conversation he’d been having.

he didn’t seem aware he was doing it and neither had you. until now.

hannah continued, counting quietly on her fingers, “he remembers everything you tell him.”

you opened your mouth to answer, but immediately closed it again. she wasn’t wrong.

logan remembered things. all sorts of things. the name of your favourite author after you’d mentioned it once in passing. which professor insisted on surprise quizzes every friday. how you always ordered extra fries but never ate the last one. the way you preferred your coffee. the fact that you hated walking across campus with wet socks after it rained.

he carried little pieces of information about you as though remembering them required no effort at all.

“and,” hannah added, smiling into her coffee now, “he always makes sure someone walks you home after group nights.”

this time, you couldn’t help smiling. not because she was wrong, but because she thought it was someone. she had no idea that, more often than not, the someone was logan himself.

you looked back at her, “you’ve thought about this a lot.”

she laughed softly, “a little.”

“a little?”

“okay.”she grinned, “more than a little.”

you shook your head, laughing under your breath, “so…”

hannah leaned forward just enough to rest her elbows on the table, “i think he likes you.”

you let the silence linger for a second. eventually, you took another sip of your coffee, “you think?”

she nodded immediately, “i’m almost certain.”

you traced absentminded circles around the rim of your mug, “i’ll keep that in mind.”

hannah smiled, clearly satisfied she’d done her part.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

dean

malone’s was busier than it had been when you’d first arrived; conversations overlapping beneath the steady hum of music drifting through the speakers. pool balls cracked together somewhere behind you every few minutes, punctuated by the occasional cheer whenever someone managed an unexpectedly good shot. every booth seemed occupied, and the warm scent of fried food lingered in the air long after the plates had been cleared away.

the eight of you had claimed the same corner booth you always seemed to end up in.

tucker and dean were arguing over something that had happened during practice earlier that afternoon. allie was attempting to convince hannah that dean had, in fact, exaggerated the entire story. garrett kept interrupting to make things objectively less accurate, while beau looked increasingly entertained the longer the argument continued.

logan sat quietly beside you, only contributing every now and then with the sort of dry comment that somehow made everyone laugh harder than the original story had.

the first round of drinks disappeared into a second. someone ordered fries for the table, garrett immediately claiming most of them.

eventually, dean pushed himself upright, “pool.”

nobody seemed particularly invested one way or the other, but everyone followed him toward the tables anyway.

there was a brief discussion about teams. mostly because dean insisted there needed to be strategy involved despite nobody else caring very much who they played with.

he looked around the group for a moment before pointing at you and logan, “you two, you’re together.”

a silent looked passed between the two of you, but neither of you questioned it, “alright.”

dean looked absurdly pleased with himself and you caught the expression immediately. logan, apparently, did not. he’d already reached for one of the cues leaning against the wall, turning it over once in his hands before offering it to you instead, “this one’s straighter.”

you accepted it automatically, “thanks.”

the game started. calling it competitive would’ve been generous. beau insisted dean wasn’t keeping score properly. dean insisted beau simply couldn’t count. garrett somehow managed to sink the cue ball twice within five minutes. allie laughed so hard she almost missed her own turn.

you weren’t especially good at pool. you’d played often enough to understand the rules, but accuracy remained … inconsistent. halfway through the game, you leaned over the table, squinting down the cue as you tried to line up a shot that looked considerably easier in theory than it did in practice.

you adjusted your grip. then adjusted it again, but something still felt wrong.

before you had the chance to rethink it a third time, logan stepped quietly beside you. he didn’t say anything straight away. instead, he looked from the cue to the angle of your arm before gently reaching for your hand, “here.” his voice stayed low enough that only you heard it. his fingers shifted yours slightly higher along the cue, “you’re holding it too tight.”

his hand was warm and steady against yours. he moved your wrist barely half an inch before stepping back again, his attention returning to the table as though nothing particularly noteworthy had happened, “try that.”

you did and suddenly the ball rolled neatly across the felt. two seconds later, it disappeared cleanly into the corner pocket. you stared after it, “huh.”

logan’s mouth lifted at one corner, “better.”

“little bit,” you smiled despite yourself.

across the room, dean noticed the entire interaction. he leaned sideways toward allie, “see?”

allie followed his gaze, “what?”

“chemistry.”

she looked back toward the two of you. logan was already focused on the table again while you circled around the opposite side, trying to decide which shot came next.

“i think he just helped her,” she knitted her brows as she looked back at the blonde.

“exactly.”

“you’ve become weirdly invested in this.”

“i just think they’d be good together,” he shrugged.

she smiled to herself, “they would.”

by the time the game ended, nobody seemed entirely sure who had actually won. dean claimed it had been your team, but beau disagreed loudly, and garrett insisted the score had become irrelevant after someone accidentally knocked two balls off the table.

eventually, everyone gave up trying to work it out.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

allie

chairs scraped against the wooden floor as people stood, conversations overlapped while jackets were pulled on, and someone inevitably realised they’d forgotten to close their tab just as everyone else reached the door. after a few hours, the evening had settled into the comfortable kind of tiredness that came from spending too long laughing with people you genuinely enjoyed being around.

outside, the air had cooled considerably.

the streets were quieter than they’d been when you’d arrived, most of the foot traffic now made up of students wandering back toward campus in small groups. the lights from the bars spilled across the sidewalks, catching against puddles left behind by an afternoon shower and turning them gold.

everyone lingered outside for a minute or two, deciding who was walking where.

dean and allie had parked across the street, garrett and hannah were already arguing over whether they had enough food left at the hockey house to avoid another late-night grocery run, and beau and tucker had somehow wandered into an entirely separate conversation before anyone else had finished saying goodbye.

you slipped your arms into your jacket, only half paying attention.

“i’ve got to head this way,” you said absentmindedly, nodding toward the opposite side of campus, “my dorm’s clear across the other end.”

before anyone could answer, allie looked toward logan who was stood beside you, “logan, can walk you back, right?”

the suggestion landed so naturally that nobody questioned it. logan didn’t hesitate, “yeah.”

you caught the smile dean tried, and failed, to hide. it lasted barely a second before he looked away, but you’d seen it. you knew exactly what he thought had just happened.

allie, on the other hand, looked entirely unconcerned. if she had any ulterior motive, she hid it considerably better than dean ever could. she simply smiled at you, wished you both goodnight, and climbed into the passenger seat of dean’s truck.

one by one, everyone drifted away. before long, only you and logan remained standing beneath the glow of the streetlights outside malone’s, “ready?”

you nodded, “ready.”

the walk back toward campus began in easy silence. you’d discovered early on that neither of you felt any pressure to speak simply because there was empty space to fill. sometimes one of you started talking after a few minutes. sometimes neither of you did. either way, it never felt awkward.

the sidewalks were damp beneath your feet, carrying the faint scent of rain and warm pavement. somewhere across campus, music drifted lazily through the night air before disappearing again as you turned down a quieter path lined with trees.

logan matched his pace to yours without seeming to think about it. he always walked slightly slower when he was with you. not enough that anyone else would notice, but just enough that you never had to hurry to keep up.

you’d made it halfway across campus before you finally smiled to yourself. logan glanced over, “what?”

you shook your head, “i think everyone’s trying to set us up.”

he blinked, “what?”

“garrett, hannah, dean, and now allie,” you gestured vaguely behind you, toward the direction of malone’s, “they’re trying to get us together.”

logan was quiet. you watched him think, his gaze dropping briefly toward the pavement as he replayed the last few weeks in his head. you almost saw the moment everything clicked into place, “oh.”

you smiled, “there it is.”

he looked back at you, “they are trying to set us up.” another few steps passed before he spoke again, “i didn’t notice.”

“i know.”

he rubbed absently at the back of his neck as he chuckled, “i thought garrett was just being friendly.”

you returned the laugh, “he was.”

“…and dean?”

“less subtle.”

“huh.”his expression settled somewhere between thoughtful and faintly amused. for another minute, neither of you said anything. then, quietly— “that’s kind of nice.”

you looked at him, “what is?”

“they like you,” his mouth twitched and the smile that appeared was small enough that most people would’ve missed it entirely.

you didn’t, though. you never did.

the path narrowed as you approached your dorm, forcing the two of you a little closer together. your shoulder brushed his once, then again a few steps later.

the building came into view not long afterward, its windows glowing softly against the dark campus.

you stopped near the entrance and for a moment, neither of you spoke. the night had settled comfortably around you, carrying the distant sounds of laughter from somewhere across campus. “thanks,” you said.

logan looked at you, “for what?”

“walking me home.”

he seemed almost surprised by the question, “always, you know that”

the answer came so simply. as though there had never been another possibility.

something warm settled quietly in your chest. you stepped a little closer, close enough that nobody looking out from the dorm windows would’ve noticed anything unusual. your fingers briefly caught the sleeve of his hoodie, “i know.”

his hands found yours for the smallest moment, hidden between the two of you. he gave them one gentle squeeze before slowly leaning closer to place a soft kiss against your lips, “night.”

you smiled as you breathed out a quiet“night.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

the hockey house was unusually quiet that evening. someone had left a hockey game playing on the television more out of habit than genuine interest, and dean and garrett were arguing half-heartedly over something that had happened during practice while tucker scrolled aimlessly through his phone.

allie and hannah occupied opposite ends of the couch, comparing notes for a class neither of you had been unfortunate enough to take.

logan had disappeared upstairs twenty minutes earlier to shower after practice.

you’d made yourself comfortable in the corner of the couch with one of your textbooks balanced across your knees, though you’d spent considerably longer reading the same paragraph than actually understanding it.

your attention drifted every few minutes. sometimes toward the television. sometimes toward whatever dean was complaining about now. sometimes… toward the staircase.

you heard footsteps before you looked up and logan appeared a second later, still rubbing a towel absently through his damp hair. he’d changed into gray sweats and a faded briar hoodie, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. his hair was still slightly damp around the edges, curling faintly where it hadn’t quite dried yet.

your eyes lifted from the textbook almost automatically.

the smallest smile appeared the moment he noticed you. he wandered into the living room, only half paying attention to whatever dean was saying.

as he drew closer, you noticed one of the hoodie strings had twisted itself awkwardly beneath the collar.

without thinking—

completely, utterly without thinking—

you held out your hand, “logan.”

he stopped beside the couch, “hm?”

“come here.”

he stepped closer immediately. not because you’d sounded particularly serious. simply because you’d asked.

you reached up, gently tugging the twisted drawstring free before smoothing the collar flat against his chest. the fabric had folded awkwardly beneath the hood, so you fixed that too, “there.”

logan glanced down briefly, “thanks.”

you brushed one last damp strand of hair away from his forehead before letting your hand fall. the movement had become so instinctive over the past few months that neither of you gave it a second thought.

logan certainly didn’t, because he leaned down to press a brief kiss against your forehead before dropping onto the couch beside you. his hand found yours beneath the blanket draped across your lap with the same unconscious ease he’d done it a hundred times before.

it took several more seconds before you realised the room had gone completely silent.

you looked up to find that dean had stopped talking mid-sentence, garrett still held an unopened bag of chips in one hand, hannah was looking between the two of you with an expression that suggested several months’ worth of observations had suddenly rearranged themselves into one very obvious conclusion, allie blinked only once, and beau looked at each face in turn, then at you, then at logan. the corners of his mouth started twitching.

logan followed your gaze around the room, “oh.”

you looked at him, “shit, we forgot.”

dean found his voice first, “what.”

neither of you answered immediately. mostly because there didn’t seem to be much else to say.

you and logan looked at each other before you finally closed your textbook and set it carefully on the coffee table, “we’re dating.”

silence. dean blinked, again, “what.”

“logan and i are dating.”

another pause and garrett frowned, “since when?”

this time, logan answered, “about four months.”

garrett slowly lowered the bag of chips onto the coffee table as though any sudden movement might somehow change what he’d just heard, “four months.”

logan nodded, “yeah.”

garrett looked genuinely wounded, “i told you to ask her out.”

“i know.”

“you were already dating.”

“yeah.”

garrett stared at him, “why didn’t you tell me?”

logan frowned slightly, considering the question with complete sincerity, “well, you didn’t ask.”

beau made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. dean ignored him completely as he looked between you and logan, “hold on.”he pointed accusingly between the two of you, “the pool game.”

you looked at him, “what about it?”

“i put you two together.”

“you did.”

“because i was trying to set you up,” he voice raised slightly as he spoke, obviously in complete disbelief.

“we know.”

“you knew?”

you nodded and dean looked personally offended, “the walk home from malone’s.”he turned toward allie, “you literally asked him to walk her home.”

allie slowly covered her face with one hand, “oh my god.”

you smiled apologetically, “he’d actually been walking me home for months.”

allie let out a quiet groan, “we spent an entire semester trying to get these two together.”

another beat of silence passed. then beau finally gave up trying to hold it in. his laugh echoed through the living room, loud enough that dean shot him an unimpressed look before the sound became contagious.

garrett started laughing next. then tucker. even hannah eventually shook her head, smiling into her coffee, “to be fair,” she said, “i did tell her i thought logan liked her.”

you laughed, “you did.”

hannah looked at you, “you could’ve said something.”

“…probably.”

dean threw both hands into the air, “probably?!”

you couldn’t help but smiling, “it was kind of funny.”

dean stared, “funny??”

then beau laughed even harder. dean dropped backward onto the couch with the sort of dramatic resignation usually reserved for championship losses, “i cannot believe,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face, “i spent four months accidentally rooting for a relationship that already existed.”

logan gave him a sarcastic smile, “hey, thanks.”

dean groaned loud enough for the entire house to hear, which only made everyone laugh harder.

through the middle of it all, unnoticed by everyone except you, logan’s fingers tightened gently around yours beneath the blanket, and when you looked around the room and found everyone still laughing at dean’s expense, you realized there wasn’t any reason to hide it anymore.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

@love-kynli @lunalovemore @katttt9 @tinyceasarsalad @melodypvnk @castellanverse @dove2007 @deanandlogangirlyxox @thesmithsbeliver456

[junezsq]

set it up

john logan x fem!reader

summary: the four times your friend group tried to set you up with logan, and the one time they find out you’ve been dating the entire time

established relationship

warnings: just pure sappy fluff, usage of y/n

word count: 4.2k

a/n: based on this request! i hope you like it :))

john logan masterlist off campus masterlist

── ᵎᵎ ✦

the funny thing about keeping your relationship with logan a secret was that neither of you had ever actually decided to.

if someone had asked during those first few weeks, you probably would’ve told them. there wasn’t anything scandalous about it. no reason to hide. nobody in your friend group would’ve cared beyond teasing the two of you for a while before eventually moving on.

it just… never came up.

the relationship itself had arrived so quietly that, looking back, neither of you could really pinpoint where friendship had ended and something else had begun.

after hockey season, you’d simply started spending more time together. study sessions that always seemed to run too late to justify walking back to your own dorm straight away. dinners that lasted twice as long as either of you intended because conversation came so easily with him. evenings spent wandering across campus without much destination in mind, filling the silence with the sort of conversations that only happened when neither person felt any pressure to keep talking.

somewhere between spring arriving and final exams looming over campus, he’d walked you back to your dorm after one of your study sessions like he always did.

the conversation had drifted off several minutes earlier, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement and the distant buzz of students enjoying one of the first genuinely warm evenings of the year.

you’d stopped outside your building. he’d looked at you for a moment before kissing you.

it hadn’t been particularly dramatic. there hadn’t been fireworks or declarations or some overwhelming certainty that everything had changed. it had simply felt… right.

afterward, logan had rubbed the back of his neck with the slightest hint of uncertainty before quietly asking if that had been okay. you’d kissed him again instead of answering.

that had been four months ago.

the next morning, you’d still met everyone for breakfast. logan had still sat beside you because he always did. you’d stolen fries from his plate because you always did. he’d walked you back to your dorm after classes because he always did.

the only real difference was that now, when nobody was looking, he’d steal a quick kiss before heading back across campus.

for a while, having something that belonged only to the two of you had been… nice.

your relationship existed outside everyone else’s opinions. there were no questions, no teasing, no constant interruptions every time one of you sat beside the other. it was just yours, tucked quietly into the spaces between lectures and late-night walks and evenings spent curled up together in your dorm.

eventually, though, the novelty faded.

more than once, one of you would look at the other and say, we should probably tell everyone.

the other would agree, but then someone would change the subject, or dinner would arrive, or you’d both forget. the conversation kept being postponed until it somehow became stranger to announce it than not to.

neither of you worried about it, because you assumed everyone would find out eventually. you just hadn’t anticipated it to take so long.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

garrett

practice had run longer than anyone wanted.

by the time coach finally called it, the sun had already started dipping behind the campus buildings, painting long shadows across the parking lot outside the arena. everyone was tired in that familiar, satisfying sort of way that followed a good skate. conversation came easier once helmets were off and sticks had been tossed carelessly into the back of trucks, the intensity of practice gradually giving way to the comfortable rhythm the team always seemed to settle into afterward.

logan adjusted the strap of his hockey bag higher on his shoulder as he stepped out of the rink. he’d texted you nearly an hour earlier.

logan: running late don’t wait if you’re hungry

you: too late already ordered enough fries for both of us x

he’d smiled to himself without really thinking about it.

logan: good

the parking lot had begun emptying by the time he started walking toward campus. several of the guys peeled off in different directions, climbing into cars or heading toward the hockey house, until eventually only garrett remained beside him since they had decided to carpool.

for a while, neither of them spoke. garrett, however, lasted about three more minutes until he felt the need to break the silence, “you know…”

logan glanced over. garrett shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, looking ahead as though the conversation wasn’t particularly important, “y/n’s cool.”

logan nodded once, “yeah.”

garrett continued walking, “i mean it.”

“i know.”

“she’s funny.”

another nod from logan, “she is.”he wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation was going yet.

people complimented their friends all the time. it didn’t seem especially noteworthy. garrett kept talking anyway, “she actually knows hockey.”

“yeah.”

“which is rare.”

logan thought about the number of times you’d sat through games you hadn’t understood at first, asking quiet questions until the rules gradually began making sense. now you caught missed penalties before half the people around you did. you’d been strangely pleased with yourself the first time that happened. he’d been pleased too, though.

“she’s easy to be around,” garrett said.

logan looked at him, “…she is.”

there wasn’t much point pretending otherwise; you were. conversation with you never felt forced, and silence didn’t either. most evenings, the two of you could spend hours together without either of you feeling the need to constantly fill the space between you. logan had never realised how rare that was until he’d found it.

garrett slowed slightly as they reached the crosswalk outside the arena and looked sideways at logan, “you should ask her out.”

the traffic light changed. logan waited for a car to pass before stepping off the curb, “oh, i already did.”

garrett laughed. not the polite sort of laugh people gave when they weren’t sure whether someone was joking. it was a genuine laugh, “yeah?”

logan frowned faintly, “yeah.”

“good one,” garrett laughed again.

for a second, logan wondered whether he’d said something wrong. then he realised garrett thought he was kidding, but before he could explain, garrett was already talking again, “seriously, though, i think you’d really like her.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

hannah

you discovered hannah’s theory by the middle of the semester over afternoon coffee.

the two of you had escaped campus between lectures, ducking into della’s diner. it had become something of an unspoken tradition over the past year. whenever your schedules lined up, you’d spend an hour there together before heading back to class, talking about everything and absolutely nothing until one of you inevitably glanced at the time and realised you were already running late.

that afternoon was no different. hannah was halfway through describing one of garrett’s increasingly questionable cooking experiments when she paused.

her expression shifted ever so slightly. not dramatically, just enough that you’d learned to recognise she was about to say something she’d clearly been thinking about for a while.

she stirred her coffee absentmindedly before looking up, “can i ask you something?”

you nodded, “always.”

her spoon clinked softly against the side of her mug, “have you ever thought about logan?”

thankfully, your coffee was already back on the table, otherwise, you suspected you might’ve dropped it. you blinked as you did your best to keep your expression neutral, “in what way?”

hannah shrugged one shoulder, “in a dating way.”

you hummed thoughtfully, lowering your eyes to your drink before she could read your face too closely, “why are you asking?”

she smiled to herself, “i don’t know.” which, coming from hannah, almost certainly meant she knew exactly why. she tucked one leg beneath herself in the booth before continuing, “i’ve just been watching you two.”

your heart gave the smallest, traitorous little skip. not because you thought she’d figured it out, but because she was far more observant than most people gave her credit for.

you’d spent the last four months being careful. never sitting too close when everyone else was around. never holding hands unless nobody could see. keeping kisses to empty hallways, quiet walks back to your dorm, and the brief moments before one of you inevitably headed home for the night.

you’d convinced yourself nobody had noticed and, for the first time, you wondered if maybe someone had.

hannah rested both hands around her mug, “he always ends up sitting beside you.”

you smiled faintly, “there’s usually a free seat.”

“maybe.” she shrugged, but she looked unconvinced, “but he always notices when you leave the room.”

you hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed that. it happened almost unconsciously; whether you were getting another drink, answering your phone, or stepping away to use the bathroom, his eyes almost always followed you for a second before returning to whatever conversation he’d been having.

he didn’t seem aware he was doing it and neither had you. until now.

hannah continued, counting quietly on her fingers, “he remembers everything you tell him.”

you opened your mouth to answer, but immediately closed it again. she wasn’t wrong.

logan remembered things. all sorts of things. the name of your favourite author after you’d mentioned it once in passing. which professor insisted on surprise quizzes every friday. how you always ordered extra fries but never ate the last one. the way you preferred your coffee. the fact that you hated walking across campus with wet socks after it rained.

he carried little pieces of information about you as though remembering them required no effort at all.

“and,” hannah added, smiling into her coffee now, “he always makes sure someone walks you home after group nights.”

this time, you couldn’t help smiling. not because she was wrong, but because she thought it was someone. she had no idea that, more often than not, the someone was logan himself.

you looked back at her, “you’ve thought about this a lot.”

she laughed softly, “a little.”

“a little?”

“okay.”she grinned, “more than a little.”

you shook your head, laughing under your breath, “so…”

hannah leaned forward just enough to rest her elbows on the table, “i think he likes you.”

you let the silence linger for a second. eventually, you took another sip of your coffee, “you think?”

she nodded immediately, “i’m almost certain.”

you traced absentminded circles around the rim of your mug, “i’ll keep that in mind.”

hannah smiled, clearly satisfied she’d done her part.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

dean

malone’s was busier than it had been when you’d first arrived; conversations overlapping beneath the steady hum of music drifting through the speakers. pool balls cracked together somewhere behind you every few minutes, punctuated by the occasional cheer whenever someone managed an unexpectedly good shot. every booth seemed occupied, and the warm scent of fried food lingered in the air long after the plates had been cleared away.

the eight of you had claimed the same corner booth you always seemed to end up in.

tucker and dean were arguing over something that had happened during practice earlier that afternoon. allie was attempting to convince hannah that dean had, in fact, exaggerated the entire story. garrett kept interrupting to make things objectively less accurate, while beau looked increasingly entertained the longer the argument continued.

logan sat quietly beside you, only contributing every now and then with the sort of dry comment that somehow made everyone laugh harder than the original story had.

the first round of drinks disappeared into a second. someone ordered fries for the table, garrett immediately claiming most of them.

eventually, dean pushed himself upright, “pool.”

nobody seemed particularly invested one way or the other, but everyone followed him toward the tables anyway.

there was a brief discussion about teams. mostly because dean insisted there needed to be strategy involved despite nobody else caring very much who they played with.

he looked around the group for a moment before pointing at you and logan, “you two, you’re together.”

a silent looked passed between the two of you, but neither of you questioned it, “alright.”

dean looked absurdly pleased with himself and you caught the expression immediately. logan, apparently, did not. he’d already reached for one of the cues leaning against the wall, turning it over once in his hands before offering it to you instead, “this one’s straighter.”

you accepted it automatically, “thanks.”

the game started. calling it competitive would’ve been generous. beau insisted dean wasn’t keeping score properly. dean insisted beau simply couldn’t count. garrett somehow managed to sink the cue ball twice within five minutes. allie laughed so hard she almost missed her own turn.

you weren’t especially good at pool. you’d played often enough to understand the rules, but accuracy remained … inconsistent. halfway through the game, you leaned over the table, squinting down the cue as you tried to line up a shot that looked considerably easier in theory than it did in practice.

you adjusted your grip. then adjusted it again, but something still felt wrong.

before you had the chance to rethink it a third time, logan stepped quietly beside you. he didn’t say anything straight away. instead, he looked from the cue to the angle of your arm before gently reaching for your hand, “here.” his voice stayed low enough that only you heard it. his fingers shifted yours slightly higher along the cue, “you’re holding it too tight.”

his hand was warm and steady against yours. he moved your wrist barely half an inch before stepping back again, his attention returning to the table as though nothing particularly noteworthy had happened, “try that.”

you did and suddenly the ball rolled neatly across the felt. two seconds later, it disappeared cleanly into the corner pocket. you stared after it, “huh.”

logan’s mouth lifted at one corner, “better.”

“little bit,” you smiled despite yourself.

across the room, dean noticed the entire interaction. he leaned sideways toward allie, “see?”

allie followed his gaze, “what?”

“chemistry.”

she looked back toward the two of you. logan was already focused on the table again while you circled around the opposite side, trying to decide which shot came next.

“i think he just helped her,” she knitted her brows as she looked back at the blonde.

“exactly.”

“you’ve become weirdly invested in this.”

“i just think they’d be good together,” he shrugged.

she smiled to herself, “they would.”

by the time the game ended, nobody seemed entirely sure who had actually won. dean claimed it had been your team, but beau disagreed loudly, and garrett insisted the score had become irrelevant after someone accidentally knocked two balls off the table.

eventually, everyone gave up trying to work it out.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

allie

chairs scraped against the wooden floor as people stood, conversations overlapped while jackets were pulled on, and someone inevitably realised they’d forgotten to close their tab just as everyone else reached the door. after a few hours, the evening had settled into the comfortable kind of tiredness that came from spending too long laughing with people you genuinely enjoyed being around.

outside, the air had cooled considerably.

the streets were quieter than they’d been when you’d arrived, most of the foot traffic now made up of students wandering back toward campus in small groups. the lights from the bars spilled across the sidewalks, catching against puddles left behind by an afternoon shower and turning them gold.

everyone lingered outside for a minute or two, deciding who was walking where.

dean and allie had parked across the street, garrett and hannah were already arguing over whether they had enough food left at the hockey house to avoid another late-night grocery run, and beau and tucker had somehow wandered into an entirely separate conversation before anyone else had finished saying goodbye.

you slipped your arms into your jacket, only half paying attention.

“i’ve got to head this way,” you said absentmindedly, nodding toward the opposite side of campus, “my dorm’s clear across the other end.”

before anyone could answer, allie looked toward logan who was stood beside you, “logan, can walk you back, right?”

the suggestion landed so naturally that nobody questioned it. logan didn’t hesitate, “yeah.”

you caught the smile dean tried, and failed, to hide. it lasted barely a second before he looked away, but you’d seen it. you knew exactly what he thought had just happened.

allie, on the other hand, looked entirely unconcerned. if she had any ulterior motive, she hid it considerably better than dean ever could. she simply smiled at you, wished you both goodnight, and climbed into the passenger seat of dean’s truck.

one by one, everyone drifted away. before long, only you and logan remained standing beneath the glow of the streetlights outside malone’s, “ready?”

you nodded, “ready.”

the walk back toward campus began in easy silence. you’d discovered early on that neither of you felt any pressure to speak simply because there was empty space to fill. sometimes one of you started talking after a few minutes. sometimes neither of you did. either way, it never felt awkward.

the sidewalks were damp beneath your feet, carrying the faint scent of rain and warm pavement. somewhere across campus, music drifted lazily through the night air before disappearing again as you turned down a quieter path lined with trees.

logan matched his pace to yours without seeming to think about it. he always walked slightly slower when he was with you. not enough that anyone else would notice, but just enough that you never had to hurry to keep up.

you’d made it halfway across campus before you finally smiled to yourself. logan glanced over, “what?”

you shook your head, “i think everyone’s trying to set us up.”

he blinked, “what?”

“garrett, hannah, dean, and now allie,” you gestured vaguely behind you, toward the direction of malone’s, “they’re trying to get us together.”

logan was quiet. you watched him think, his gaze dropping briefly toward the pavement as he replayed the last few weeks in his head. you almost saw the moment everything clicked into place, “oh.”

you smiled, “there it is.”

he looked back at you, “they are trying to set us up.” another few steps passed before he spoke again, “i didn’t notice.”

“i know.”

he rubbed absently at the back of his neck as he chuckled, “i thought garrett was just being friendly.”

you returned the laugh, “he was.”

“…and dean?”

“less subtle.”

“huh.”his expression settled somewhere between thoughtful and faintly amused. for another minute, neither of you said anything. then, quietly— “that’s kind of nice.”

you looked at him, “what is?”

“they like you,” his mouth twitched and the smile that appeared was small enough that most people would’ve missed it entirely.

you didn’t, though. you never did.

the path narrowed as you approached your dorm, forcing the two of you a little closer together. your shoulder brushed his once, then again a few steps later.

the building came into view not long afterward, its windows glowing softly against the dark campus.

you stopped near the entrance and for a moment, neither of you spoke. the night had settled comfortably around you, carrying the distant sounds of laughter from somewhere across campus. “thanks,” you said.

logan looked at you, “for what?”

“walking me home.”

he seemed almost surprised by the question, “always, you know that”

the answer came so simply. as though there had never been another possibility.

something warm settled quietly in your chest. you stepped a little closer, close enough that nobody looking out from the dorm windows would’ve noticed anything unusual. your fingers briefly caught the sleeve of his hoodie, “i know.”

his hands found yours for the smallest moment, hidden between the two of you. he gave them one gentle squeeze before slowly leaning closer to place a soft kiss against your lips, “night.”

you smiled as you breathed out a quiet“night.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

the hockey house was unusually quiet that evening. someone had left a hockey game playing on the television more out of habit than genuine interest, and dean and garrett were arguing half-heartedly over something that had happened during practice while tucker scrolled aimlessly through his phone.

allie and hannah occupied opposite ends of the couch, comparing notes for a class neither of you had been unfortunate enough to take.

logan had disappeared upstairs twenty minutes earlier to shower after practice.

you’d made yourself comfortable in the corner of the couch with one of your textbooks balanced across your knees, though you’d spent considerably longer reading the same paragraph than actually understanding it.

your attention drifted every few minutes. sometimes toward the television. sometimes toward whatever dean was complaining about now. sometimes… toward the staircase.

you heard footsteps before you looked up and logan appeared a second later, still rubbing a towel absently through his damp hair. he’d changed into gray sweats and a faded briar hoodie, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. his hair was still slightly damp around the edges, curling faintly where it hadn’t quite dried yet.

your eyes lifted from the textbook almost automatically.

the smallest smile appeared the moment he noticed you. he wandered into the living room, only half paying attention to whatever dean was saying.

as he drew closer, you noticed one of the hoodie strings had twisted itself awkwardly beneath the collar.

without thinking—

completely, utterly without thinking—

you held out your hand, “logan.”

he stopped beside the couch, “hm?”

“come here.”

he stepped closer immediately. not because you’d sounded particularly serious. simply because you’d asked.

you reached up, gently tugging the twisted drawstring free before smoothing the collar flat against his chest. the fabric had folded awkwardly beneath the hood, so you fixed that too, “there.”

logan glanced down briefly, “thanks.”

you brushed one last damp strand of hair away from his forehead before letting your hand fall. the movement had become so instinctive over the past few months that neither of you gave it a second thought.

logan certainly didn’t, because he leaned down to press a brief kiss against your forehead before dropping onto the couch beside you. his hand found yours beneath the blanket draped across your lap with the same unconscious ease he’d done it a hundred times before.

it took several more seconds before you realised the room had gone completely silent.

you looked up to find that dean had stopped talking mid-sentence, garrett still held an unopened bag of chips in one hand, hannah was looking between the two of you with an expression that suggested several months’ worth of observations had suddenly rearranged themselves into one very obvious conclusion, allie blinked only once, and beau looked at each face in turn, then at you, then at logan. the corners of his mouth started twitching.

logan followed your gaze around the room, “oh.”

you looked at him, “shit, we forgot.”

dean found his voice first, “what.”

neither of you answered immediately. mostly because there didn’t seem to be much else to say.

you and logan looked at each other before you finally closed your textbook and set it carefully on the coffee table, “we’re dating.”

silence. dean blinked, again, “what.”

“logan and i are dating.”

another pause and garrett frowned, “since when?”

this time, logan answered, “about four months.”

garrett slowly lowered the bag of chips onto the coffee table as though any sudden movement might somehow change what he’d just heard, “four months.”

logan nodded, “yeah.”

garrett looked genuinely wounded, “i told you to ask her out.”

“i know.”

“you were already dating.”

“yeah.”

garrett stared at him, “why didn’t you tell me?”

logan frowned slightly, considering the question with complete sincerity, “well, you didn’t ask.”

beau made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. dean ignored him completely as he looked between you and logan, “hold on.”he pointed accusingly between the two of you, “the pool game.”

you looked at him, “what about it?”

“i put you two together.”

“you did.”

“because i was trying to set you up,” he voice raised slightly as he spoke, obviously in complete disbelief.

“we know.”

“you knew?”

you nodded and dean looked personally offended, “the walk home from malone’s.”he turned toward allie, “you literally asked him to walk her home.”

allie slowly covered her face with one hand, “oh my god.”

you smiled apologetically, “he’d actually been walking me home for months.”

allie let out a quiet groan, “we spent an entire semester trying to get these two together.”

another beat of silence passed. then beau finally gave up trying to hold it in. his laugh echoed through the living room, loud enough that dean shot him an unimpressed look before the sound became contagious.

garrett started laughing next. then tucker. even hannah eventually shook her head, smiling into her coffee, “to be fair,” she said, “i did tell her i thought logan liked her.”

you laughed, “you did.”

hannah looked at you, “you could’ve said something.”

“…probably.”

dean threw both hands into the air, “probably?!”

you couldn’t help but smiling, “it was kind of funny.”

dean stared, “funny??”

then beau laughed even harder. dean dropped backward onto the couch with the sort of dramatic resignation usually reserved for championship losses, “i cannot believe,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face, “i spent four months accidentally rooting for a relationship that already existed.”

logan gave him a sarcastic smile, “hey, thanks.”

dean groaned loud enough for the entire house to hear, which only made everyone laugh harder.

through the middle of it all, unnoticed by everyone except you, logan’s fingers tightened gently around yours beneath the blanket, and when you looked around the room and found everyone still laughing at dean’s expense, you realized there wasn’t any reason to hide it anymore.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

@love-kynli @lunalovemore @katttt9 @tinyceasarsalad @melodypvnk @castellanverse @dove2007 @deanandlogangirlyxox @thesmithsbeliver456

[iceyngi]

The Argument

☄︎ Warnings: Arguing. Reader being stubborn. Heavy alcohol consumption. Light angst. ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating/Genre: PG. Hurt/Comfort ☄︎ Words: 1847 ☄︎ Summary: You get into a petty argument with Logan on the way to a party.

💭: super original title cause i couldn't think of anything else lol

Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Logan Masterlist here.

It started as most stupid arguments did, a mild annoyance that snowballed into something unnecessarily bigger.

Logan had been late picking you up for the party. It's not like he hadn't messaged you to let you know, he had. It's not like he didn't have a valid excuse, he did. But you were already in a foul mood, already lowkey feeling like hockey took priority over everything, and his late arrival was the cherry on an already shit cake.

"I'm so sorry, babe," Logan said the second you climbed into the passenger seat, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"No problem," you replied, your voice clipped.

But there was a problem, and you both knew it. Logan knew you well enough to pick up the subtle signs in your texts and body language. Your reply to his text had been short; your clipped response now was unusual; you looked unimpressed, all clear signs. But the biggest one was the fact that you hadn't leant over to give him a kiss. Hadn't tried to soothe the tired lines in his face.

Logan noticed it all, but he chose not to press. He'd had a long day too and was wound just as tightly as you were at the minute.

The silence in the car stretched as he pulled away from the curve, driving you to the party hosted by the Lacrosse team. The silence allowed your thoughts to ruminate unnecessarily over the situation, working yourself up until the irriation boiled over. Under your breath, you muttered a tight "I should have just walked."

It was meant as a throwaway comment, a petty jab to vent, and you truly didn't mean to start something, but it hit its mark.

"I said I was sorry." Logan's grip on the steeting wheel tightened.

"I know."

"Then what's that supposed to mean?" He snapped, his already low patience wearing thin.

"Exactly what I said," you snapped back, crossing your arms. "I just meant I should have walked."

"Yeah, because I was late, right?"

You knew you should have stopped the conversation there, apologised, let him know you'd had a bad day, and moved on. But a stubborn part of you needed this fight, needed to get out the emotions you were bottling up.

"I don't know why you're being like this. I wasn't trying to start anything."

Logan let out a sharp exhale through his nose. "Kinda feels like you were."

"Well that doesn't make it true," you retorted, continuing to stare straight ahead through the windshield.

"Look, I'm exhausted," Logan said, voice dropping low. "I barely slept last night. Practice was hell. Coach was on my ass the whole time. I got stuck in traffic on my way here, and now the only thing I'm hearing from you is that I should have gotten here quicker."

"There's no need for that tone, Logan."

Logan's head snapped to look at you, his eyes flashing before he forced his attention back to the road. "I'm only giving you a tone because it seems like nothing I'm saying is good enough for you."

"I never said that!"

"You've been in a mood since you got in the car." You were about to protest when he interuppted, "Don't deny it. You're picking a fight. What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe think that I was just frustrated."

"And so was I, but I didn't take it out on you."

That made you pause. Deep down, you knew that Logan was right. He hadn't taken out his crappy day on you the way you were with him. But, at the same time, the longer this conversation went on, the more unheard you felt.

"Okay, but I am allowed to be frustrated too," you muttered.

"I didn't say that you weren't." Logan pressed his foot on the brake, pulling the car over to the curb with more force than necessary. Turning in his seat, he shifted to look at you.

"What do you want me to say?" He asked, throwing a hand up. "I apologised. I texted you. I told you practice ran over. What more do you want from me?

"A text twenty minutes later than you were supposed to be here."

"Did you want me to pull out my phone while coach was talking?"

You opened your mouth before closing it again. "Obviously not," you admitted. "Maybe I just wanted you to understand why I'm upset, rather than acting like I'm attacking you."

"I do understand," he said, voice softening a little. "But every time I apologise, it feels like you find another way to tell me I screwed up."

Your stomach dropped.

"Forget it." Stubbornly, you turned your hear away, staring out of the passenger side window.

Logan sighed heavily, turned the engine back on, and drove you both the rest of the way to the party. As he pulled into crowded driveway of the party, he broke the silence that had settled over you both, keeping his eyes glued to the steering wheel.

"You don't need to come in if you're just going to be pissed at me all night," Logan muttered.

You folded your arms tighter across your chest, his words leaving you seething. "If you don't want me to come with you, just say that."

"Can you stop twisting my words?" You could hear the frustration in his voice, and it only made you more frustrated. "I never said that."

"Whatever, Logan."

"Have fun," he said flatly as he shut off the ignition.

"Oh, I will."

You slammed the door to his car a little harder than necessary and stormed into the party.

Inside, the party was in full swing. Someone called your name, but you only offered a tight smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Within seconds, a drink was in your hand. Less than a minute later, the first drink was gone and you were pouring a second, heavy on the booze, light on the mixer.

You welcomed the burning heat of the drink as it hit the back of your throat. It felt better than the ache in your chest. As the drinks, and music, kept flowing through you, you forgot why you even needed it in the first place.

But the alcohol could only make you forget for so long. Every couple of minutes, you found your eyes scanning the crowd to find Logan. And when you finally did, your chest tightened. He was standing with Garrett and a few of the lacrosse team, head thrown back in laughter, unaffected and carefree.

'He hasn't even looked for me,' you thought, a bitter lump forming in your throat. 'He didn't text to see if I wanted to talk. He doesn't care. As usual, he'd rather drink with his buddies than deal with his emotional girlfriend.'

Suddenly, every emotion you'd been trying to bury came bubbling to the surface. Tears blurred your vision, turning the fairylights into halos. You stumbled towards the exit, desperate for fresh air.

"Whoa, steady there. I gotcha."

Strong hands caught your forearms, holding you steady as you practically fell into a chest.

Blinking hard, your vision focused on Tucker's worried face.

"Hey, what happened?" Tucker's brow furrowed as he took in your dishevelled state, mascara streaked down your flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears.

Before anybody else could notice, he carefully steered you toward the kitchen.

"Here," Tucker said gently as he handed you a cup. "Drink this, it's water."

You frowned at the cup as if it had offended you. "I don't want water."

"Please? For me?" He coaxed, using that soft gentlemanly tone he was so good at.

"Fineeeee." You downed the first cup, and let him refill it. By the time you finished the second, your head was pounding slightly less, but the emotional dam was still broken, stray tears still running down your face.

Tucker guided you to a quieter hallway near the downstairs bathroom, leaning against the wall. "Do you want me to go and get Logan for you?"

"No," you wailed, the sound muffled as you hid your face in your hands. "He doesn't care, he hates me."

Tucker sighed sympathetically, you were obviously shit-faced drunk, so he didn't expect much logic from you. "I don't think that's true. Tell me what happened."

"He hates me," you repeated, a hiccup interrupting your words. "He's gonna break up with me for being difficult."

"What makes you say that?" Tucker asked, completely baffled.

"Because he said I was pissed off and picking fights," you cried, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand.

Tucker stared at you for a minute, fighting the amused twitch of his lips. "And... were you?"

"Yes," you hiccuped loudly. Falling into Tucker's arms, you buried your face into the front of his shirt.

Tucker wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you began dramatically retelling the car ride. Between slurred and jumbled sentences, you explained how he arrived late because he only cared about hockey, how he 'yelled' at you, and how he basically told you to go away.

Tucker listened patiently, nodding along, knowing damn well that this was a result of two tired people knowing how to push each other's buttons, rather than the hateful breakup you were telling him it was.

"Alright, let's just breatheeee," Tucker said slowly, gently pulling you away from his shirt. "Listen to me, that boy is crazy about you, like literally crazy. You're just really drunk, alright?"

You nodded slowly, wiping the snot from your nose.

"Come on, let's go get your boy."

Half-carrying, half-guiding your body, Tucker navigated you through the sea of college students. You stumbled along, clinging to his arm and still crying softly and mumbling about how Logan wouldn't want to see you.

Logan was still standing where you'd last seen him. He was talking to Garrett, but he wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were scanning the crowd, clearly looking for you.

The moment he spotted you clinging to Tucker, tears streaming down your face, his posture changed. He pushed through a couple of people to get to you.

"What happened?" He asked frantically, scanning your body for injuries. "Did someone hurt you?"

He didn't wait for you to answer, he pulled you from Tucker's hold into his arms, tucking you against his chest.

"She's fine, man," Tucker said gently, "she just missed you and is very sorry about earlier."

Before you could say anything, Tucker turned back into the crowd, giving you both space.

Your tears had stopped the moment you were in Logan's arms, instantly calmer. "I'm sorry," you mumbled into his shoulder. "Don't be mad anymore and please don't break up with me."

Despite himself, Logan laughed softly. "It's going to take a lot more than a stupid argument for me to even consider breaking up with you. You're stuck with me."

"I'm so sorry," you slurred, eyes closing as you swayed. "I-."

"Let's talk about it later," he interrupted, already pulling you towards the exit. "First, let me take you home."

💭: oh how i crave an argument then comfort w logan. sigh. i really enjoyed writing out the argument cause (in my mind) they both have a point and it gets like that sometimes but let me know what you thought about this one xx

[andy-15-07]

When the Phone Rings

Pairing: John Logan  x Reader

Word Count: 2216

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

wattpad request:Heyy I have a request for Off campus.. Could you make a Y/N and Logan imagine where Y/N gets into an accident and him finding out through his friends, and the aftermath.

John knew something was wrong the second Garrett called him twice in a row.

It was late enough that the hockey house had gone quieter than usual, the kind of late where even the loudest guys had started to settle into their own corners of the room. John had been half watching a game on the TV and half pretending to read a text from you that had been sitting unanswered for almost an hour.

He frowned at the second call and answered immediately.

“Yeah?”

Garrett’s voice came through fast and tight. “Are you with Y/N?”

John sat up. “No. Why?”

A pause.

That tiny pause was all it took.

John’s stomach dropped. “Garrett.”

“Okay,” Garrett said, and now the forced calm was obvious. “Don’t freak out.”

John was already standing. “What happened?”

Another pause, shorter this time, like Garrett was trying to decide how much to say first. “She got in an accident.”

The room seemed to go very still around him.

John gripped the phone harder. “What kind of accident?”

“She got hit,” Garrett said quickly. “Not, like,bad, I don’t think. She’s awake. She’s talking. But she’s going to the hospital just to be checked out.”

John’s pulse started hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears. “Why am I hearing this from you?”

“Because she made us promise not to call until someone got a hold of you and she was being stubborn as hell.”

John had already shoved himself away from the couch. “Where is she?”

“Ambulance. They’re taking her now.”

John was already grabbing his jacket. “Which hospital?”

Garrett gave him the name, and John barely managed a rough, “I’m coming,” before hanging up and heading for the door.

Behind him, Tucker had already stood up. “What happened?”

John barely heard him. “Y/N was in an accident.”

Dean’s face changed instantly. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know.”

Garrett had said awake. Talking. But John’s mind had already leapt to every worst possibility it could find, and none of them were helping. He was halfway out the door when Logan caught his arm.

“John.”

He turned, breathing hard.

Logan’s face was careful and serious in that quiet way he had when someone needed him to be steady. “Go. We’ll handle things here.”

John nodded once, already gone inside his own head. “Yeah.”

Garrett’s voice came through the phone again a second later, this time from the background on speaker. “Tell him she was upset because she dropped her phone and she kept apologizing to everybody like she was the one who got hit.”

That was somehow exactly the kind of thing you would do.

John swallowed hard, throat tight. “What happened?”

“She got clipped turning at an intersection,” Garrett said. “Airbags went off. The front of the car got messed up but not, like, catastrophic. She was conscious the whole time. She kept asking if she could call you.”

John closed his eyes for a second, that single detail landing like a blow and a relief at the same time. She had wanted him. She had been scared and had wanted him.

He was already driving before he fully realized he was in the truck.

The whole ride to the hospital felt like moving through something thick and unreal. Every red light was insulting. Every car in front of him felt too slow. His hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white, his thoughts jumping between the worst images and Garrett’s voice saying she was awake.

When he finally got to the ER, he was out of the truck before he had even fully parked.

Garrett was waiting near the entrance, hands shoved into his pockets, face tense but relieved when he saw John.

“She’s in exam room four,” Garrett said immediately. “They’re still checking her over. Nothing obvious from the outside, but they’re being careful.”

John nodded once, unable to talk for a second.

Garrett looked at him. “Hey. She’s okay.”

John dragged a hand down his face. “I need to see her.”

“Yeah,” Garrett said. “Come on.”

The hallway to the exam room felt too bright, too sterile, too quiet. John could hear himself breathing. He could hear the squeak of his shoes. None of it felt real until Garrett pushed the door open and John saw you.

You were sitting up on the bed, one arm bandaged a little at the forearm, hair messy, your face pale but alert. There was a cut on your lip and a bruise already blooming near your temple, but you were awake. You were okay enough to sit there with an anxious nurse checking your vitals while trying to look braver than you probably felt.

The second you saw John, your entire face changed.

“John,” you said, voice breaking a little on his name.

That was all it took.

He crossed the room in three steps and stopped so fast in front of you that he almost didn’t know what to do with his hands. Then, when he saw the way your eyes had gone shiny and the way your shoulders had started to shake, he made the decision for both of you.

He wrapped you in his arms very carefully.

You gave a small, broken sound and clung to him instantly.

John buried his face against your hair and shut his eyes, the relief hitting him so hard it almost hurt. “Hey,” he whispered, voice rough. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded against his chest and then immediately winced.

John pulled back just enough to look at you. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” you admitted, trying to laugh and failing a little. “Mostly my pride.”

That made a weak breath of a laugh escape him, though his hands were already checking you gently, as if he could tell by touch whether anything serious had happened. One hand brushed your cheek. The other hovered at your shoulder before settling carefully at your waist.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly.

Your eyes filled immediately. “I’m sorry.”

John frowned. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Apologize.”

You looked at him with that wrecked, guilty expression people only wore when they thought they had caused pain by existing in the wrong place at the wrong time. He hated it. Not because it made you look weak. Because it made you look like you thought you had to earn being cared about.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”

John’s jaw tightened. “You got hit by a car.”

You made a face. “That sounds much worse when you say it.”

“It is worse when I say it.”

That got the tiniest, tearful smile out of you.

The nurse finished up and gave John a quick rundown about the bruising, the cut, and the fact that you were being monitored mostly out of caution. No broken bones. No internal bleeding from what they had seen so far. You’d probably be sore and miserable, but you were fine.

John heard the words, but it still took a second before they fully landed.

Fine.

You were fine.

When the nurse left and Garrett quietly stepped out to make a phone call, John sat beside your bed and reached for your hand immediately.

You looked at him with a little uncertainty. “You’re not mad?”

That made him stare at you.

Then his face softened in a way that nearly undid you all over again. “Mad?”

“You look kind of mad.”

He huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I’m mad at the universe. Not you.”

You blinked, then your mouth trembled. “Okay.”

John’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You really thought I’d be mad at you for getting hurt?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I just,”

He stopped you gently with his hand. “Hey.”

You looked up.

He studied your face for a second, then said, very quietly, “You can stop trying to make yourself small right now.”

Your eyes shimmered.

John kept going, voice low and steady. “You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re allowed to be both. And I’m allowed to be scared too.”

That did it.

Your face crumpled, just a little, and John immediately moved closer, wrapping one arm around your shoulders while careful not to press too hard against anything that might hurt. You leaned into him with a shaky breath, and he held you there until the tears settled.

“I tried to call you,” you said into his shirt. “I really did.”

“I know.”

“But my phone,”

“I know.”

“I was so mad because I dropped it and then I thought maybe I’d never get to talk to you and I was being stupid and,”

John kissed the top of your head. “You were not being stupid.”

You sniffled. “I was scared.”

“I know.”

“I wanted you.”

That made his whole expression go soft in a way that hurt to look at.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I’m here now.”

You nodded, still teary and shaky.

He brushed his thumb under your eye, careful around the bruising. “You doing okay?”

You made a face. “No.”

That earned a quiet, relieved laugh from him. “Fair.”

A little while later, after the doctor confirmed you were fine to go home with instructions to rest and keep an eye on the concussion symptoms, John helped you into his truck like you were made of glass and had absolutely no interest in pretending otherwise.

You winced when he shut the door too quickly, and his whole face changed immediately.

“Too fast?”

“A little.”

He nodded once like he was taking notes. “Got it.”

On the drive home, you dozed against the seat with your head tilted toward the window. John glanced at you every few seconds, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over occasionally to rest on your thigh just to make sure you were still there.

When he pulled into his driveway, you woke just enough to frown. “You’re carrying me in.”

You looked at him like he had offended your entire bloodline. “John.”

“No arguing.”

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can.”

He gave you the most unimpressed look in existence. “You got hit by a car.”

You glared. “That is extremely rude to say in that tone.”

He got out, came around, and opened your door with all the finality of a man who had already made the decision. “I’m carrying you.”

You groaned, but you also smiled a little because you were too tired to keep fighting him properly.

Inside, he set you up on the couch with blankets, water, and the remote, then disappeared for ten minutes before returning with a bowl of soup and a bottle of painkillers.

You stared up at him. “You planned this?”

He looked mildly offended. “I’m not incompetent.”

You smiled weakly. “That is very debatable.”

He sat beside you and carefully tucked the blanket around your shoulders. “Eat.”

You obeyed because the warmth of the soup was making your whole body feel less bruised already.

John watched you for a minute, then reached over and gently took your hand again. “You okay?”

You glanced at him. “You’ve asked that like seven times.”

“I know.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It’s necessary.”

You smiled, then your face got a little softer. “You were really scared.”

John didn’t answer immediately.

Then he looked at you, honest and unguarded in the low light of the living room, and said, “I was terrified.”

That made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the accident.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

He immediately frowned. “No.”

You gave him a tired, guilty look. “John.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I am not mad at you.”

You nodded.

Then, because you were still shaken and sore and emotionally cracked open, you shifted a little closer to him and leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around you with the same careful tenderness he’d used at the hospital and rested his cheek against your hair.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

The quiet between you was soft now. Safer.

Eventually you whispered, “Can you stay on the couch with me?”

John looked down at you, then smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“Even if I fall asleep?”

“Especially if you fall asleep.”

You relaxed into him fully after that, and the rest of the night blurred into warm lamplight, quiet reassurances, and John refusing to let go of your hand even while you drifted in and out of sleep.

Every so often, when you woke a little, he’d be there exactly where you left him, watching over you with that steady, devoted look that made it impossible to stay afraid for long.

And when you finally woke the next morning sore and fuzzy and safely home, John was still beside you, one hand resting over yours like he had spent the whole night making sure the world stayed away.

He looked up when you shifted and gave you a tired, relieved smile.

“Morning,” he said quietly.

You smiled back, even through the pain. “Morning.”

He kissed your temple and murmured, “Don’t do that again.”

You huffed a weak laugh. “I’ll try.”

John shook his head, but his hand tightened around yours.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “I need you.”

[puckmegirl]

THE BOY IS MINE (ft. John Logan)

blurb: briar’s hockey team hosts their annual fundraiser for the hurricanes at malone’s. the prize? a date with one of the four hottest hockey player heartthrobs. the problem? you lost the bidding war to win your own boyfriend.

warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, the whole gang is here yay power of friendship, lowk crack fic with a side of romance, light jealousy, mentions of deanallie hehe, BEAU MAXWELL IS A FLIRT

“Allie, I gave you one job!”

And really, you did.

You were swamped with final exams and endless group projects. On this particular Friday night—the evening of the hurricanes fundraiser—you had to meet up with your teammates to go over presentation slides.

Thus, you entrusted your beloved friend, Allie Hayes, to ensure your spot in the bidding war for…well, your boyfriend.

“Aw, you wanna win me over once again, gorgeous?” Logan had teased you.

You had rolled your eyes and nudged him, “It’s for a good cause.”

“You’re paying to go out on a date with your boyfriend.”

“I’m paying to fund a little cane’s hockey endeavors.”

Except you can’t do either of those things because your trusted friend turned out to not be so trustworthy.

“I’m sorry, babe! I really am,” Allie’s eyes shone with guilt. “Della had me working a table during Logan’s segment, and I lost the stupid auction paddle—”

You raised your hand up to cut her off. With a resigned sigh, you let any hard feelings flee from your system. Allie had been having a rough couple of days—with the Sean breakup, and her recent streak of suspicious disappearances that you still hadn’t confronted her about, you knew this was a genuine mistake.

“Did he at least sell for a good price?” You asked.

“$750, baby!”

The voice came from behind you, along with a strong arm draping over your shoulders. You turned your head and met your boyfriend’s handsome face. Logan wore a gleeful smile, probably elated that the fundraiser had gone so well despite the last minute arrangements.

“Wow, that’s a lot,” you noted in surprise.

Logan’s expression shifted to a subtle pout. “You don’t think I’m worth that much?”

You kissed his stubble placatingly. “I think you’re priceless, babe.”

That got him to grin again.

Tucker came up behind and clapped him on the back, “Your boy here got the second highest bid.”

You shared an unimpressed look with Allie, “Let me guess, the top bid was on—”

“Well, well, well, Mrs. Logan. You finally showed up,” Dean joined the circle with a smug smile.

“Speak of the devil,” Allie said spitefully.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, “You wound me, theatre kid.”

“I know you mean that as an insult, but I take it as a compliment.”

“You tell him, Al,” Beau popped up right behind Dean. He shot Allie a wink.

“How much did they get on you?” You redirected the conversation back into place.

The blond shrugged casually, peering down at his drink. “Nothing grand. A humble amount, really.”

Beau rolled his eyes and answered, “$1800.”

Your eyes widened, “You’re kidding.”

Dean’s mouth hung open, “Don’t stoop to their level, Mrs. Logan.” He pointed an accusing finger your way.

“I’m just shocked that somebody has that much money laying around,” you replied.

“We could’ve renovated the theatre department’s stage,” Allie noted bitterly.

“I could’ve gotten new car rims,” Logan added.

“Or that new gaming console,” Tucker said.

“Or my housing payment,” you continued.

“Or better toner for his hair,” Beau teased Dean.

“OKAY! WE GET IT!” Dean exclaimed, holding his hands up to stop the discussion.

Hannah and Garrett walked by, holding hands. The former shared a bright smile, “Hey, you made it!”

“How much was your boyfriend?” You asked her.

“5 bucks.”

“How.” You deadpanned. Garrett was a good looking guy, a very popular one at that. You’ve seen the herds of puck bunnies that worshipped him. A five dollar bid was ridiculous to even consider.

“Garrett stopped the auction once Wellsy placed her bid,” Tucker responded.

Smooth move, Graham.

And he knew it. Garrett had a shit-eating grin on his face like he knew he just won a million boyfriend points.

“That’s so cute,” you said before turning your head to eye your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you do that?”

The boys stifled their laughs at that.

Logan paused for a beat before he replied with: “I…wanted to make sure we raised enough money for the children.”

Smooth move, Logan.

Garrett dapped him up like his answer was ingenious. You hmphed and looked away. Logan squeezed your waist in an appeasing gesture.

“Well, when’s your date?” You asked.

Logan looked at his watch, which was on the wrist of the arm he had around you, so he charmingly pulled you closer to him to check the time. “In half an hour.”

You blinked. “What? Why so soon?”

Dean answered, “She requested it.”

“And is anyone gonna tell me who she is?”

“HIPAA,” Dean mimed zipping his lips closed.

“That’s for medical stuff, dingus,” Hannah told him.

“Is someone a sore loser?” Dean taunted.

Your gaze flew to Allie, “You placed a bid?”

“No,” she defended rather quickly. “Dean’s just…being stupid.” She muttered before rushing back into the staff kitchen.

You would’ve questioned their exchange more, but Logan’s arm returned to his side. “I should go too. You know, freshen up for my date.”

You flashed a faux smile, “Keep talking like that and you’ll have to go looking for a real date after this.”

The group dispersed—Garrett tugging Hannah along for their ‘fairly’-earned date, Dean and Tucker off to count up all the money they collected, Logan away to prepare for his mystery girl, and Beau gave your shoulder a reassuring rub and said, “If you give me $20 right now, I’ll go on a date with you” before you glared at him enough for him to bolt out.

You decided to stick around and help the group clean up the place once the festivities ended. Surely it wasn’t because you wanted to see the girl who spent hundreds of dollars to hang out with your boyfriend.

“Pop a fucking button, Logan. What is this, Sunday school?” Tucker was playing with Logan’s outfit to ensure he looked presentable for his date.

Logan’s eyebrows knitted together, “Relax, Law Roach. Are you forgetting she’s not actually my girlfriend?”

“For $750, you better start acting like she is.”

You cleared your throat loudly.

Tucker shot you an apologetic look.

“…John?”

The pair of them turned their attentions to the voice.

There stood a tall, stunning girl with beautiful deep tanned skin, hair down in luscious locs adorned in gold hair cuffs, and smooth legs peeking out from under her skirt. She looked like a model.

She looked between the two hockey players.

“You’re Amala,” Logan voiced.

She nodded with relief, “Yes. John, right?”

“We’re both John,” Tucker chimed in.

“Ohh,” Amala nodded.

“You can call me Logan,” your boyfriend said, stretching out a hand towards her.

“Logan,” she repeated the name, shaking his hand.

Tucker pushed Logan a step forward, “Have fun, you two.”

Logan looked over his shoulder to share one last look with you. He gave a reassuring smile, his eyes soft. Amala noticed and waved at you shyly. You waved back slowly.

Logan turned back to Amala, “Where would you like to go? You’re the boss.” He told her with a charming grin.

She shrugged with a smile, “Here is fine.”

“Here?” Logan raised a brow, surveying the post-function bar. “We could, though I thought of taking you out for ice cream—”

“Ice cream sounds great!”

“Yeah?” He smiled. “Perfect.”

Your eye twitched as you picked up discarded confetti off the floor.

Logan guided Amala out Malone’s with a hand hovering—not touching—over her lower back. The bell hanging over the door rang in a soft tune as they exited, marking their departure.

“Remind me again why I agreed to letting my boyfriend sell himself?” you queried as you picked up a broom.

Tucker raised a brow, “For charity?”

“Right,” you sighed.

Tucker looked around, “Hey, have you seen Dean? He was supposed to drive all this stuff back to the hockey house.”

You shook your head, “No. But he’s not the only unhelpful friend. Allie was supposed to clean up with me. She literally works here!”

“Huh.” Tucker licked his lips in thought.

He picked up a stack of boxes, “Well, I have to get these home myself. Do you need a ride?”

“I promised Della I’d clean up,” you replied.

“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

You shrugged, “I’ll be fine, Tuck. Drive safe.”

Tucker nodded and bid goodbye before leaving the diner.

By the time you finished fixing up the place, flipping chairs over tables, and mopping the floor clean, the bell chimed again.

“We’re closed,” you called out as you tied a garbage bag shut.

A pair of familiar arms wrapped around your torso from behind you. “No late night service?” Logan’s voice tickled your ear.

You stood up straight and leaned back into him before remembering you were supposed to be mad at him.

You pulled back and turned to him, “How was your date?”

Logan let out a wistful sigh, “Amazing. You know, I might need to ask her out again.”

You pinched his arm. He winced.

Logan leaned in and held your hips, “I’m kidding. You’re the only girl I want.” He murmured as he pressed a kiss against your forehead.

That soothed your jealousy a bit. “What did you two do?”

He hummed. “Took her to Spoons, got ice cream, sat at a table and talked about you, drove back—”

“Wait, wait,” you stopped him. “Talked about me?”

Logan’s lips tugged upwards, “Yeah, we talked about you. Like the whole time.”

“Why?” You were so perplexed.

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and responded, “Amala’s an exchange student. She shares a class with you. She’s been wanting to befriend you since the semester started but she didn’t know how to talk to you. So…she enlisted my help.”

You blinked a few times. “She went out with you…to ask you how she could be my friend?”

“Yeah. Sweet, right?”

“Oh my god, I feel like an asshole,” you breathed out.

Logan pulled you closer, “You’re not an asshole, baby.”

“I was cussing her out in my head for the past 2 hours!”

He chuckled, “I think that’s valid.”

“It’s not! I shouldn’t have judged so soon. Fuck, I feel so bad.” You started to spiral.

Before Logan could calm you down and reassure you, the bell rang again. You both turned to the door and saw Amala stepping in.

“Hey,” she shared a polite smile. “Logan, you left your wallet.” She handed it back to him.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” He took it from her hands. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

She smiled with a small nod. Her eyes flicked to me. Amala mustered up some courage and said, “Logan said so many nice things about you. No wonder he loves you so much.”

Your guilt boiled over and settled into soft mush at that. “He’s…too kind.”

Logan rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you closer to him.

Amala smiled again then spoke, “We…we share an econ class together. The 10 am with Prof. Singh?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m in that class.” You didn’t want to tell her that you hadn’t noticed her before.

Amala nodded back, “Yeah…I think you’re pretty cool. And smart. Do you maybe wanna study together for the final exam this weekend?”

Your lips eased into a soft, genuine smile. “I’d love that, yeah.”

Amala’s eyes gleamed with excitement and relief. “Yeah? Great, that’s…” she cleared her throat to control herself and appear nonchalant. “Cool. Logan has my number, he can share that with you.”

“Will do,” Logan swore solemnly.

She waved goodbye and started heading towards the door, “Alright, text me! It was lovely meeting you both!”

And then she was gone.

You turned back to Logan. He had a smug, ‘I told you so’ smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and shoved him. “Shut it.”

He buried his face in your hair, “Looks like you have an admirer.”

“Why, jealous?” You teased.

Logan’s brows lifted. “Me? Look who’s talking. You wanted to skin me alive a few hours ago.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

“God forbid a girl doesn’t want to see her boyfriend go out with someone else.”

Logan kissed your temple, “It was for a good cause,” he said softly.

“I know,” you squeezed his hand. You knew how much the hurricanes meant to Logan ever since he was a kid himself.

“So…” He brought you closer to him until your foreheads rested against one another. “How much for me to take you out on a date?”

Your eyes looked deep into his, “Hmm, how much have you got?”

Logan pretended to think about it. “If Amala didn’t rob me before returning my wallet, I should have 60 bucks and a punch card for free cheesy fries.”

You faked a delighted gasp, “How romantic!”

He chuckled at your comment before kissing you. His lips moved smoothly over yours, his kiss felt like a breath of relief after the long and busy evening. He held your chin in one hand, using the other to pull you even closer.

You separated for a moment to murmur, “Next year we’re sticking to signed hockey merch.”

Logan grinned, “Good luck trying to convince Dean of that.”

“He needs a girlfriend.”

He hummed, “And for $1800 and an hour, he might already have one.”

You laughed, taking his hand and tugging him out of Malone’s. “Come on, time for my own date with you.”

“You’re the boss,” he murmured with a kiss on your cheek.

And maybe it was best if you didn’t know that Logan purposely ‘forgot’ his wallet at the ice cream shop.

who remembers this trope from the movie ‘flipped’?

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

₊˚｡❆ logan takes care of you while youre sick ❆｡˚₊

summary: john logan's day starts out like any other but when you stay radio silent in the morning, he starts to worry. little did he know you just had a little tango with a cough and allergies.

tags: you are sick, it's nothing too serious or contagious tho, just some allergies and a "lil" cough, this def isnt me projecting....., some good ol fluff

a/n: is this incredibly self indulgent? yes, yes it is. did i write this purely bc ive been sick for the past week and need a beautiful, strong man to take care of me? mayyybe...... enjoy >: )

The day started out like any other.

5 AM, wake up and get ready for the day.

After that, morning training with the boys. Garrett would be the first one out, Dean immediately starts pestering everyone, Tuck just working out.

7 AM, morning training ends. John slowly makes his way back inside, wiping the sweat off himself. He jumps in the shower again, taking his time to treat and take care of himself. He uses all the right moisturizers and lotions, sending you a good morning text of him in some fancy face mask thingy you gave him the other day.

8 AM, he's back in his room, working on school work.

He's texted you about five times now, his dark blue eyes trailing to his phone nearly every second.

8:30 AM, he still hasn't heard from you.

"Logan, morning!" Hannah calls to him from her seat at the kitchen island next to where Garrett is chopping up some garlic for Tucker.

"Hey Hannah." He mumbles, walking over to grab some milk from the fridge.

"Hey man, you alright?" Garrett asks as he moves onto chopping some green onions.

John just nods his head, "Yeah, yeah"he trails.

"Uh you sure? Because you sure don't seem like it." Hannah pats his back.

"Yeah…. it's just that…. I haven't…" He rubs his neck, unsure if he really wants to divulge the special routine you and him have been sharing. It's always wake up, text, and then mornings together at the off campus house. Hence why the usually ever-so-cool John Logan was internally— though he'd never say it out loud —freaking out.

"Your girlfriend hasn't texted you huh?" Dean— because of course Dean 'perfect moment to walk in' Di Laurentis—walks in, gliding to the fridge.

"Uh yeah yea-" Insert even more awkward neck rubbing.

"Doesn't she usually come in around now?" Tuck— finally —adds.

"Yeah but, it's nothing… right?"

A chorus of "yeahs" ring out as everyone begins to help Tucker with brunch. And everything is back to schedule, mostly. Dean is back to his shenanigans, teasing Garrett's culinary skills and pushing Tuckers buttons all while doing karaoke with Wellsy.

Yet a certain girl stays on his mind as he and the boys start to eat.

With every cough and sniffle to prevent snot from dripping down your face, you felt the life be sucked out of your brain.

Copious amounts of tissues and medicine bottle lay scattered in your room. Your blankets were piled high, one on top of another as you fight to keep yourself warm. Yet, somehow, chills still ran through your body as you blow your nose for the millionth time that hour.

You should've known that your sore throat would evolve into a horribly mean cough, should've treated it there and then.

But of course, your stubbornness and inability to listen to John Logans classical motherly nagging right after you two had a little spat earlier that day won over. So, instead of listening to the soon-to-be-pro hockey player, you opted into cutting your day together short by heading home instead of following him back to the boys' house.

Were you being a little dramatic? Yes. Were you being unnecessarily petty? Also yes. Did John know that your dramatic flair and pettiness didn't mean you didn't love him? Of course. But that didn't stop the feels from coming when he finally got home. Without you.

As soon as you got home, you felt so bad about leaving him, you immediately called him. You promised you'd come by the house the next day to make it up.

Obviously, you had broken that promise.

Phone discarded outside on your kitchen counter, you curled yourself even deeper into your blankets. You wonder if John had texted or maybe called.

You let out a grunt, stretching your legs and arms trying to get yourself ready to potentially get up and grab your phone. That is until you let out a horrible cough that made your head woozy, knocking even more vitality out of your bones.

Maybe it'd be better to just close your eyes and take a little nap.

"Please be alright, please be alright." John 'usually cool' Logan muttered under his breath.

As soon as brunch was done, plates were put away, and the kitchen was cleaned, John threw on a tank top, joggers, and threw on the first pair of shoes he stumbled into. He sprinted out the door, quickly shouting some bullshit about a run.

The entire run to your place, he worried.

You two had talked the night before so you probably weren't ignoring him meaning the chances you were in trouble or worse were significantly higher. Not to mention you promised him that you'd text and come over in the morning.

So he ran like all of hell was chasing him, nipping at his heels. He pushed his legs to move faster and faster, feet pounding against the concrete so hard and fast that it felt like nothing at all. He felt like he was flying.

Finally, your apartment building came into view, the dark blue and grey building a cold sort of relief to him. He quickly enters in your pin— his birthday —and runs to the stairs.

Up and up he runs, calves starting to really work harder as he climbs to the third floor where you lived. As he finally approaches your door, his breath halts.

He raises his fist to the door, knocking lightly. He calls your name, feeling like a lost puppy scratching at his owners door.

He waits a second, his heart slowing as he presses his ear against your door trying to listen in for any indication you were inside. He then hears a loud thunk, like something or someone heavy falling onto the ground.

His heart rate spikes, hands starting to fumble the lock of your door. He uses the key fob you gave him, hauling the heavy metal door open.

Immediately, he is met with the smell of Vicks and Eucalyptus. Moving through your apartment, he calls your name, picking up the phone you left on the counter.

"-ohn?" Your meek voice calls, an attack of coughs and sneezes leave your body.

John's heart sinks to his stomach, body immediately heading to your bedroom.

"Hey, hey, I'm here now." He rushes to you, your body laying on the floor in a nest of comforters and blankets.

"H-He-" you start coughing, turning away your flushed red face from him.

John felt his heart break, quickly standing up to open the windows, blinds, and balcony doors to your apartment. He moved quickly and efficiently to hand you tissue after tissue to blow your nose.

"It's alright darling. I know you feel cold but I'm gonna need you to unfurl baby."

You pouted, nearly whimpering as John slowly took each of the blankets away from you. Your hands latched onto his forearms, hot tears falling from your eyes. You crashed into his arms, head falling into that perfect space in between his shoulder and neck.

"J-John, I'm s-so sorry."

He shook his head, his curls tickling your cheek. "Hey, don't worry about it baby. You did nothing wrong." His hand came up to your back, rubbing soothing circles and lines across your back.

"Are y-you ACHOOOO" you sneeze into your hands, snot getting all over your hands.

"Uh, I think let's put a hold on all the cuddles and get you cleaned up first."

You open your mouth to agree only for more lung emptying sneezes to attack your chest. John just chuckles, his strong arms wrapping around you to help you up.

He leads you to the bathroom where you immediately bend over your sink blowing your nose more while washing your hands. A wave of heat runs through your body, begging for you to splash the ice cold water across your flushed face.

"Do you wanna shower baby?"

You meekly nod your head, wincing. "Is it that bad?"

John just chuckles, "No, couldn't even tell baby. Just wanted to ask."

He helps you out of your damp clothes, shivers running through your body. Gathering your worn clothes and the large pile of blankets, he sorts everything in your numerous laundry hampers— you liked having everything already sorted so you can just dump one at a time into your machine.

"Babe!" You tried to yell only to voice crack into a coughing fit.

John shot straight into the bathroom, new towels and comfy clothes in hand.

"What's up? You alright?"

You smile at the man. Through the steam filling the bathroom, he could see your curves through he glass door of the shower.

"Can you help me wash my hair?"

And who was John 'been far too influenced by Dean' Logan to refuse?

Sitting down on the fresh sheets that your boyfriend changed your sweat infused ones with, he used a small towel to dry your hair. His hands rubbed your hair, not too much that your head would start to sway side to side and cause your head to pound.

"John?"

"Yeah? Something on your mind beautiful?"

You turn towards him, now sure that your sickness was just another bout of your chronic dry cough coupled with allergies— which both were very much not contagious.

"Thank you." You pat his cheek, hand moving down to his neck, rubbing softly.

"Of course darling," he moved your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm, "I was so worried about you, you know? Called and texted you so many times."

"Ugh, I totally left my phone on the island yesterday." You groaned, shaking your damp head.

"Yeah, you did. But, it's okay. I'm just glad that since I came over, I was able to help you."

You meet his eyes, smiling. "You're too good for me, you know that right?"

"No idea what you're talking about."

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You smiled even wider, cough drop breath be damned.

"By the way, it sounded like you were gonna ask me a question earlier. You know, before we went to the bathroom."

Your eyes widened, "Oh! That!" You look up, as if to ponder what you were thinking. "Was just gonna ask if you were dead ass drawing hockey plays on my back."

Now it was John 'not usually one to be surprised' Logan's eyes turn to widen.

"You recognized that?"

You chuckle— thank goodness for inhalers —lightly shoving the man sitting in front of you. "Damn right I recognized that. I'm loyal Briar U Hawks fan who just so happens to have sat in on a certain captaining duo's strategy meeting."

John nuzzles his face into your neck, his own damp hair teasing your cheek. "Damn, you got me there."

"Of course I've got you. I love you, baby blue."

"Oh shut up, my eyes aren't even that blue. They're green on a bad day."

"You keep tellin yourself that champ."

He presses a kiss to your jaw, "I love you too."

[f4ll-for-you]

Wanna Be Yours

john logan x mechanic! reader

I had this idea and really wanted to write about it - if you like it I'll make a part two (disclaimer I am not a mechanic and know nothing about cars so sorry if theres anything that doesn't make sense!!)

The electric buzz of Malone’s filled the air as Logan stepped inside, the familiar sounds of laughter and music washing over him like a warm embrace. He scanned the crowded bar, looking for his friends, but paused when he caught sight of someone new at the far end of the room.

You stood out amidst the chaos, your laughter ringing clear above the noise. Your long hair fell in soft waves around your shoulders. He felt an unexpected jolt of attraction, something he hadn’t felt in a while.

Logan’s friends, Dean and Garrett, were at a booth on the left, engaged in a lively debate about the last game. He hesitated for a moment wondering if he should go over to you, then walked over to his friends. Todays game had gone badly and he didn’t need a rejection ontop of that. 

You looked up just as he looked away, you could've sworn he was looking at you, but you ignored it, you didn't have time for hockey boys and hookups. Even if they were pretty.

Logan slid into the booth beside Garrett, tossing his jacket over the back. He kept one eye on your table, trying to be subtle. He listened to Dean launched into some ridiculous theory about why the game’s loss was definitely due to bad luck.

“Dude,” Logan said with a smirk, looking over at his friend and pouring himself a beer. “We lost ‘cause you missed that wide-open pass.”

Garrett laughed and Dean looked shocked. 

He continued to protest but Logan wasn’t really listening anymore. His attention drifted again, your laugh had just risen above the chatter again, bright and easy and damn if it didn’t do something weird to his chest. He took a slow sip of beer, pretending not to care, but already wondering how he could work his way over there without looking obvious.

You both spent the evening with your respective friend groups, both stealing glances at each other when the other wasn't looking. 

You were trying not to pay attention to the brown eyed hockey boy, but the tequila in your system was giving you other ideas. He looked genuinley happy, laughing and drinking with his friends, sometimes you could hear them from your table they'd get so loud. However each time you glanced over, you slowly began to notice the slighlt darkness under his eyes, his expressions tainted with exhaustion. 

The tequila had definitely kicked in, your cheeks were warm, your laughter came easier, and everything felt lighter. Your friends were deep in conversation about some TV show you hadn’t fully been paying attention to.

Across the bar, Logan’s table was loud as ever, Garrett doing impressions of their coach losing his mind during timeouts, Dean nearly falling off the booth laughing. Logan leaned back with that easy grin on his face, the one that made girls turn heads without even trying.

But when he glanced up and saw you actually looking at him this time? His breath hitched just slightly.

He didn’t look away immediately like before. Instead, he held your gaze for a moment.

You blushed and ignored him, you'd hadn't had enough to drink to make bad decisions tonight and you had a job interview tomorrow anyway.

Logan’s smirk softened just a fraction when you looked away, oh. Not falling for the charm so easily. He kind of liked that.

Garrett nudged him with his elbow, raising an eyebrow. “Dude,” he said under his breath, loud enough only Logan could hear, “you’re staring.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took another swig of beer to hide it. “I’m not staring,” he lied.

Dean leaned in now too, following Garrett’s line of sight toward your table and then immediately grinned and proceeding to tease Logan further.

“Ohhhh,” Dean drawled. "That’s why you’ve been extra quiet all night.”

Logan shot him a warning look, half annoyed, half amused, but didn’t deny it.

The next moment, Tucker walked up with fresh shots and slid into the booth across from them all. "Alright boys! Who's ready to get properly wasted?"

You glanced over and saw Logans friends teasing him, most likely about you being his next 'hookup.' 

"Hey, I think I'm gonna get an early night, this weeks been exhausting and I have that job interview tomorrow" you said to your friend. She agreed and you both finished your drinks, ignoring the boys table getting louder and louder as Dean had ordered shots. You walked out of the bar forcing yourself not to look Logans way.

The moment you stood, Logan’s gaze snapped to you. His smile faded slightly as he watched you grab your coat and say goodbye to your friends.

Dean was already hyped up on shots, slamming the table and yelling something about “chugging like champions,” but Logan barely registered it.

You didn’t look back. Didn’t glance his way once as you pushed through the crowd toward the door.

Garrett noticed first, waiting to see what his friend would do.

“She leaving?” Dean asked.

Logan just nodded, then without a word he slid out of the booth after you as his friends cheered.

Before he could get out through the sea of people crowding the bar, you were gone, likely already in an uber or walking back to your dorm with your friends. He mentally cursed himself for not going over sooner. 

The next moment, his phone chimed, he groaned seeing his brother, Jeffs name pop up. He'd been ignoring his brothers messages, their dad was drinking heavily again, unable to work at the garage so Logan had to find extra time to help. Jeff had mentioned about putting a job ad out about getting an extra pair of hands but Logan had been reluctant, they barely had enough to cover Jeffs income let alone another person and Logan was already working for free. 

Logan looked down at his brothers message.

Jeff: got someone coming at 11 tomorrow for an interview, need you to be there, I have to take dad to an appointment.

He stared at his phone, the glow of the screen cutting through the dim light outside. Logans head fell back in frustration, he didn’t know how to interview anyone, let alone on his own.

He exhaled sharply and shoved his phone back in his pocket. 

Jeff was doing everything right: holding down their dads’s appointments, keeping up with customers, all while Logan got what he wanted, to play hockey, to have some freedom. He didn’t resent Jeff, he resented his father for not letting his children have the freedom they deserved. They had to cover for him while he drank himself into an early grave.

Rather than going back in to the bar, drinking more, and likely feeling awful in the morning. Logan headed straight home, texting his friends to say he’d see them later.

Your vintage truck purred down the quiet morning streets, sunrise painting gold streaks across the windshield. You were running early to your interview, thinking about the memories of fixing up your truck at your dads garage back home as you drove. Your scholarship money only went so far and now a month in you'd realised getting a job was the only option if you wanted to continue enjoying student life as well as studying. Your parents didn't have endless money to give you but they did their best.

As you drove, your mind drifted to Logan, you were sure he'd been looking at you last night and as much as you hated to admit it, it intrigued you. Although he was one of the infamous Hawks House hockey boys, he was quieter, harder to read. Not like Garrett or Dean who could often be seen chatting up girls left right and centre.

The interview wasn’t far from campus a small mechanic shop tucked between two buildings, Logan & Sons Auto Repair. You hadn’t realized it was connected to the Logans, until now. 

Pulling up, you killed the engine and took a deep breath. Nervous energy buzzed under your skin, you really wanted this job. Not just for the money, but you genuinley missed helping your dad fix cars, it was an outlet for you.

As you stepped out in your simple jeans and tshirt, not wanting to look super dressed up and out of place for the job, a tall figure emerged from around back briar hockey hoodie on, hands in pockets, it was Logan. 

"Uh hi" you said nervously. 

"Hi" he replied, smiling, not believing his luck, "nice truck" he pointed his head you could tell he was taking in every detail of it, he looked in awe. 

"Did you need help with it?" he asked. You looked back at him, confused and sightly pissed off. 

"No" you said flatly, he'd clearly assumed you were here for help, not for the interview. "I'm here for the interview, but from that reaction you clearly don't think I'm capable."

Logan’s smile faltered and for once, the usually smooth-talking hockey captain was completely thrown off.

His eyes widened slightly. How had he already fucked this up?

He hadn’t expected you. The girl from Malone’s, the one who laughed like she didn’t have a care in the world, the one he’d been staring at all night, to show up here for the job.

And now you looked pissed. Rightfully so.

“Oh,” he said dumbly, running a hand through his messy morning hair. “Right. Yeah.”

He cleared his throat and straightened up instantly shoulders back, trying to be casual like he hadn’t just totally put his foot in it, but inside? Total panic.

Jeff had told him someone was coming at 11:00, but Logan hadn't actually got your name or anything. He just assumed it'd be some local guy looking for extra cash between classes.

“Sorry,” he added quickly looking guilty.

You'd been used to this, people at your dads garage thinking you didn't work there. They'd ask if a 'man was around' when they'd bring their cars in, especially as you looked younger. You spent years trying to prove yourself, showing strangers that you knew things inside out. It brought you back to those moments, not feeling good enough even though you knew you were. Part of you wanted to turn around and leave, but you needed the money. 

"So, what do you want to know" you replied, your tone still cold but trying to remain somewhat professional.

Logan caught the frost in your voice, it hit him like a slap.

He’d done this before. Assumed things about people based on first impressions. Hockey had taught him to read situations fast, but right now? He was bad at reading you, and he hated it.

Without overthinking, Logan stepped aside and gestured toward the shop door with an open palm, “come this way,” he said quietly, softer than before. No jokes, no flirty charm, just trying to be polite and not make any more mistakes.

The garage wasn't fancy, concrete floor smudged with oil stains, tools neatly organized along one wall, but there was pride here, family photos tucked on a shelf above the messy desk.

Logan grabbed a chair from one side of his brother's cluttered desk and pulled it out for you. Then moved to sit the other side of the desk.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound official even though he had zero idea what a real job interview sounded like.

“So…” he started, wishing he’d prepared something beforehand. “What made you wanna apply here?”

His brown eyes studied your face, trying his best to act professional and ignore how much he wanted to ask you out.

"My dad has a garage back home, I worked there from when I was 10 until I came here" you explained. "You might not think it” you half laughed, referring to his earlier reaction, “but I know engines inside out, I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty" you paused for a second, "and honestly, I miss working on cars." You tried to sound confident, and tried to be a little more friendly. You wanted this job after all, and you could see in Logans face he felt awful for judging you.

Logan’s expression shifted, he was genuine surprise, then respect. He hadn’t expected that, the passion behind your words, you loved cars, just like he did. 

“Damn,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips again, not flirtatious or cocky, just impressed. “That’s… really cool.” You smiled in response, slightly smug that you’d caught him off guard.

Then Logan leaned forward slightly and asked with intrigue, “what kind of cars have you worked on?”

You laughed softly, thinking of the many, many cars you'd worked on in your barely twenty years, "literally everything, honestly I think my dad would've made me stay if he could."

Logan chuckled at that literally everything and the way you said it so casually, like fixing a Mustang engine was as normal as brushing your teeth.

He liked your laugh. Soft, but real, not forced or fake-flirty like so many girls tried with him. God, he was down bad already and he hadn’t even seen you work on a car yet.

“So,” Logan said, leaning back slightly with newfound curiosity, so if someone brought in a busted vintage Mustang what would you check first?”

It wasn't just an interview question anymore. He actually wanted to know if you knew your stuff. 

Logan watched you carefully, arms crossed now, not to be intimidating, but because he was genuinely paying attention.

When you answered, it was confident, you weren’t guessing. The words just flowed like someone who’d actually torn into an engine more times than they could count.

And damn… that turned him on a little.

He nodded slowly, lips quirking into another small smile before pushing off from where he leaned and walking over to one of the bays where the exact car you were talking about sat with its hood up.

“Wanna prove it?” Logan asked casually, but there was a challenge glinting in his brown eyes.

Logan grabbed a wrench off the bench and tossed it lightly in his hand, then nodded toward the open hood.

“This thing’s been acting up,” he said. “Dies out when you idle too long. Jeff’s been swapping parts blindly, thinks it might be spark plugs or fuel pump.”

He stepped back, giving you space.

It wasn’t just about seeing if you could fix it, though yeah, that mattered for hiring someone. He wanted to see how you worked, your focus, your hands-on knowledge without hesitation.

Plus, watching a girl who actually knew her stuff under pressure? Kinda hot.

You didn’t hesitate.

Without asking for permission, you walked straight to the Ford, grabbed a socket wrench from the tray, and started checking connections. No guesswork. Just methodical precision: inspecting wires, tapping sensors with your knuckle like you knew exactly what sound they should make.

Logan stood back silently, arms crossed again, but now he was watching everything. The way your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. How you muttered to yourself as you worked.

This was it, he thought, he was going to marry you then and there.

Then, after about three minutes of diagnosis, you reached under the dash and popped off a cover panel near where fuel pressure would be monitored.

Your fingers moved fast.

Logan’s breath caught just a little.

You weren’t guessing. You weren’t flipping switches randomly like most people would. You were working like someone who’d done this a thousand times before.

And then click you pulled out a small gauge, hooked it to the fuel line, and waited for the pressure reading with that calm focus only experienced mechanics had.

The needle dropped low immediately below spec.

Your lips pressed together confirming your diagnosis before you looked up at Logan not smugly or dramatically. “Fuel pump’s bad,” you said simply.

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, half laugh, half disbelief.

Jeff had been complaining about this truck for weeks, swapping out random parts like he was playing mechanic roulette. And here you were, you’d diagnosed it in under five minutes without even touching the engine block properly.

He stepped forward and peered at the gauge reading over your shoulder the numbers confirmed it, the pressure way too low.

“Holy shit,” Logan muttered under his breath.

“You’re… really good.”

"I did tell you that" you snickered, smiling triumphantly. Working on cars was like being at home for you. Comfortable, easy.

Logan grinned, wide, the kind that showed off his dimples.

Yeah. You had told him. And he’d been a dumbass for doubting you at first.

But now? Seeing you like this, relaxed, smiling, totally in your element with grease on your fingers and confidence radiating off you, it was really attractive.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit, and suddenly felt way more awkward than before.

“Okay,” Logan said with a chuckle. “You’re hired.”

No waiting around. No calling Jeff to approve it or whatever corporate nonsense there usually was when hiring someone new in a family business.

What was the policy on fratenizing with the staff again? Because he’d known you five minutes and already had proposal plans going round in his head.

[flwr-princ3ss]

John Logan (5+1)

A/N: I love reading the lil fics like these so now I must write one hahaha. (sorry to anyone who's waiting for my Logan series update, it's coming I swear) (I've been waiting to use this gif its sooo 🤤)

summary: the five times Logan almost said he loved you and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing: John Logan x fem!reader

wc: ~5.5k

warnings: fluff, a lil angst in one bit but not much, implied friends-to-lovers, a lil suggestive in some parts, swearing, alcohol

disclaimer: I don't own any of the off campus characters or story lines, all credit to the author and show writers.

-----

1.

The first time was only two weeks into your recently-defined relationship. You were at the library together, your chemistry books and lectures piled high on the table as you meticulously scrawled incomprehensible formulas and equilibrium expressions across a notebook page. You were gently humming some song playing through your headphones, your head bobbing to the beat as you finished another chapter.

Logan kept peeking glances at you from across the table, a small smile on his face as he shook his head and looked back down at his Econ homework. You caught movement out of the periphery of your eye, looking up to catch Logan in the act. You took an earbud out, your eyebrows furrowing as you turned to question your boyfriend.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Logan lazily shrugged.

“John Logan,” your eyes squinted as you assessed him.

“Ooh, the full name,” Logan leaned back in his chair, a teasing smirk forming.

“John Logan, why are you laughing at me.” 

“I’m not laughing at you, I would never.” 

“It sure looked like it.”

“I would never laugh at you, baby. Maybe I just enjoy sitting here and basking in your presence,” Logan tilted his head, a mischievous look on his face.

“Aww that was sweet,” you leaned forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand.

“And watching you dance while doing homework,” he added with a chuckle.

“Logan you ass,” you tossed a highlighter across the desk at him, grinning in satisfaction as it smacked him in the chest.

“That’s not very nice,” he raised his hand to his chest where the marker had hit him, feigning pain.

“Neither is laughing at your girlfriend,” you teased back, not nearly as offended as you pretended to be. 

Logan grinned widely, his girlfriend. God, he loved the sound of that. Loved it even more when you were the one to say it out loud.

You turned your attention back to your notes, unable to wipe the dopey smile off your face.

Logan’s eyes never left you. He watched as you slowly started bopping along to the beat again, occasionally looking his way and giggling as you continued to study. He loved studying with you, mostly because that meant he got to study you. Your little quirks and habits, he loved memorizing them all. Every little small detail of yours, he loved them all.

As time went on Logan was learning he loved every little minor thing you did that you never would’ve thought he’d noticed. The urge to tell you how much he loved all these little things he’d picked up on over the last few months you’ve been dating was building rapidly. 

However, Logan feared it was too soon and he didn’t want to risk running you off, so he held back for now. He watched as you continued bouncing your head to the beat in your headphones, smiling to himself as he refocused on his notes.

Too early in the relationship, but that didn’t stop Logan from cataloguing every characteristic and mannerism of yours.

2.

The second time Logan almost admitted that he loved you was the first time you came to one of his games while wearing his name across your back. You had been several times before, always sitting with Allie and Hannah as they cheered on their boyfriends.

But this was the first time you were there, as Logan’s girlfriend.

He had made a couple laps around the ice to warm up, hyping himself up in his head as he nodded to his teammates as they began warm up drills. As he pumped his skates back and forth his gaze naturally found yours in the crowd. You were sitting front and center with the girls, his away jersey covering your frame.

You had been staring at him, excitedly bouncing up and down as he finally found you amongst the buzzing student section. You waved at him from across the rink before cupping your hands around your mouth and screaming your head off for him.

“Let’s go baby, kick their asses!” 

And you had remained loud during the entire game, consistently cheering him and his friends on as the Hawks gained the advantage and Logan scored a goal. He could hear you over the crowd going crazy as the puck swished into the opposing team’s net.

“Hell yeah, baby!”

Logan could hardly stop the dopey little smile that was largely hidden underneath his hockey helmet’s cage. He circled back around the rink, hitting his archer pose as he pointed towards where you were cheering him on from the stands, Allie and Hannah sharing similar looks behind you.

“Dibs on number 22!”

Logan was impressed with how loud you were able to yell, he could hear you clear across the rink. Dean and Tucker came up skating behind him. Dean thumped a padded arm against Logan’s back. 

“Y/N’s loud as hell, Logan,” Dean laughed.

“She could probably announce the game with how loud she is,” Tucker added.

Logan had the cheesiest grin plastered all over his face.

“Oh, he’s whipped,” Dean practically cackled as he gloated.

“Yeah, I totally am,” Logan was proud of this, you had him wrapped around your finger and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved that you claimed him as loud and proud as he claimed  you. His heart swelled, adoration pouring out of him as he pointed to you with his hockey stick. His smile widened as you started screaming even louder. 

After the game, when the Hawks won you had slithered out of the stands and ran towards the men’s locker room, positively buzzing with excitement. 

Allie and Hannah could hardly keep up, their rapid footsteps falling short as you had practically sprinted to find Logan. By the time the other girls had caught up to you, you were bouncing up and down in the hallway as you waited impatiently by the door to see your winning boyfriend. 

One by one, the team started to file out of the locker room and either exited to the left or found their respective friends and family to the right. 

Dean and Tucker came out first, the loud-mouthed blonde immediately noticing you vibrating with excitement and letting out a chuckle before grabbing Allie by the waist and pulling her in for a sweet kiss. Tucker also laughed lightly, shaking his head as he greeted Hannah and Allie.

Garrett came out next, simply sparing you a sideways glance and smile as he quickly pulled Hannah into his arms, his face relaxing in the crook of her neck.

At long last, Logan finally appeared in the door. His curls fresh from the post-game shower, his impish grin widening as he locked eyes with you. You didn’t give him a second to think twice, immediately throwing yourself into his arms and pecking small gentle kisses all over his face as his chest reverberated with deep laughter.

“You.” Kiss. “Were.” Kiss. “So.” Kiss. “Amazing.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Kicked.” Kiss. “Some.” Kiss. “Serious.” Kiss. “Ass.” Kiss. “Out.” Kiss. “There.” Kiss. “I’m.” Kiss. “So.” Kiss. “Proud.” Kiss. “Of.” Kiss. “You.”

Out of breath, you pulled away and stared deeply into his brown eyes. Logan was grateful for the dimmed lights of the underground hallway, or he was sure you would’ve noticed the pure adoration and deep emotion swirling through them as he stared at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever hold in his arms.

“Thanks baby, I had the best cheerleader out there,” Logan smirked.

“Are you guys coming to Malone’s or you gonna stand there in the doorway all day?” the group collectively giggled as Dean interrupted the moment you were having. 

You sighed in fake protest as you slid out of Logan’s arms, settling on holding his hand as you dragged him along the hall with the others.

He was falling more and more in love with you every day. He wanted to tell you, he just didn’t want to do it with everyone else around. He wanted it to be just yours between the two of you. 

3. 

The third time was the result of you testing Logan’s patience time and time again. It was harmless really, and he’ll admit that on that particular day you got him good. You had been walking out to his truck after getting breakfast together when you pointed to something in the distance over Logan’s shoulder. 

“What’s that over there?” You had sounded innocent enough.

He had turned to look, rapidly spinning back around when he heard you take off sprinting towards his truck.

You and Logan had been battling it out lately, you were adamant that you could get your own door and not shrivel up and fade away. Logan saw things differently and came up with every excuse under the sun as to why you shouldn’t have to open your own door. 

“I like your nails, I don’t want you to ruin them.”

“What if your bag gets caught in the door? We can’t have that.”

“What if I just want to do this one thing for you, Y/N?”

Which had then resulted in the current situation, of you always trying to throw him off so you’d get your way. Logan wasn’t about to let that happen, and he was determined to get his point across.

Logan had jogged his way back to his truck, giving you a stern look through the passenger window as he opened your door.

“Absolutely not,” was all he said.

Logan’s hands undid the seat belt buckle in one swift movement, his arms sliding behind your back and under your thighs as he pulled you out of his truck.

“Logan! What are you doing?” You had shrieked, giggling the entire time as you threw your arms around Logan’s neck to catch your balance.

“How many times do I gotta tell you, baby?” Logan set you down gently, closing the passenger door as soon as your feet touched the ground.

“John Logan, I know you did not just yank me out of your truck to prove a point.”

Logan bit his lip, nodding as he looked you up in down, savoring every bit of your form as he was going to show you how much he intended to prove that point. He pressed his body into yours, your back pushed against the truck door as you felt like you forgot how to breathe. 

Logan brought a finger up, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

“I like doing these things for you, baby. So yeah, I’m going to prove my point to you right now and I’m going to open your door for you, and you’re going to sit your pretty little ass down in that seat and then I’m going to take you home. Sound good baby?”

Logan didn’t leave much room for argument, his body so close to yours that if you leaned just the slightest bit forward you could’ve kissed him. Logan knew the effect he had on you, a knowing smirk on his face as he hovered over you. 

You weren’t going to let him have it that easily. If he wanted to play dirty, two could play that game. You leaned in as if to kiss him, Logan instinctively flickering his eyes down to your lips as he simultaneous bent his head lower. Instead, you dodged his kiss, tracing your lips gently up his jawline and landing on the pulse point on his neck. You lingered there, noting the way Logan groaned as you tenderly kissed up towards his ear. 

“Don’t think that just because you’re taking my ‘pretty little ass’ home that I am going to make things easy for you, baby.”

Your lips now hovered above his, the urge to close the distance mounting within Logan as a teasing, coy look crossed your face. Just as Logan began to lean in, you abruptly pulled away. Instead, you opened the door once again and climbed up into your seat. You put on your seat belt, sparing a glance back out the open truck window where Logan stood staring at you with his lips parted and his brows furrowed in disbelief that you had just curved your own boyfriend.

You giggled as you rested your arms against the windowsill, tilting your head to the side as you stared right back at him.

“There, my ‘pretty little ass’ is sat. You taking me home or what?” You flirted unabashedly.

Logan could feel the warm heat crawling up his neck. You kept him on his toes and he loved how despite the routines you’d had after so long of being friends, you found new ways to surprise him every day. 

Every day Logan found new reasons why he loved you, and every day he was closer and closer to admitting to you something he had just kept to himself all these moments.

4. 

The fourth time was after your first fight. Logan hardly wanted to call it a fight, he’d folded the instant you gave even the slightest inclination that you were maybe about to cry. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, and Logan had already forgotten what you’d been arguing about. He just knew that he couldn’t stand the sight of you upset and he knew that stress was the main factor that had kicked off the argument in the first place. The whole thing had started because you were overwhelmed from work and school and you hadn’t been taking care of yourself and Logan called you out on it. He hadn’t meant to strike a nerve, but when he pointed out that you looked tired, you took it personally and started bickering with him until you realized you needed a break.

“Logan, I’m still mad at you,”you pushed his arms away from you as he had tried to pull you into his embrace.

“That’s fine, be mad at me,” Logan was doing his best to ignore the sting, wanting nothing more than to reach out and hold you.

“I am,” you affirmed.

“I know, baby,” Logan winced.

“Don’t baby me,” your eyes practically shot daggers at him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Logan apologized for probably the hundredth time that night.

“I’m going to walk away for ten minutes,” you said as you threw pushed your hair out of your face, Logan itching to be the one to do it.

“Ten minutes?” He asked.

“Just ten minutes. I’m going to shower, do a face mask, and calm down,” you confirmed, your eyes softening as you took in the way Logan gave you his sad, pouty eyes.

“Okay,” he acquiesced.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll stay right here.”

“Good.”

Those were the longest ten minutes of Logan’s life to date. Albeit, it was probably going to take way longer than ten minutes in the bathroom as you had wanted to shower, run through your skincare and haircare routines, and just take some time to breathe as you processed what had just transpired.

He had been waiting for all of about two minutes, his leg bouncing as he sat on your couch waiting for you to come out of the shower. He wanted to give you your space, but god he also wanted to hold you close and promise to never argue with you again. He couldn’t stand to think that he had hurt your feelings in any capacity, the idea alone making his chest ache as he thought about how upset you’d looked.

He couldn’t just sit there, his mind kicking into high gear as he jumped up and into the kitchen. Logan racked his brain for ideas, his mind in overdrive as he tried to come up with a plan to fix things. That was his whole thing after all, he was the one who fixed problems and he was absolutely desperate this because he didn’t want a silly fight to be the starting crack in the foundation of what you two are building together.

You were peacefully showering, completely oblivious to the madness happening beyond your bathroom door. Logan moved mechanically, his body taking him to where he needed to be. He had resorted to taking some of the tedious tasks off your to do list, trying to find anything he could do to help soften your burden as he started your laundry, took out trash, and ordered your favorite take out. 

He knew you were just stressed, that the weight of midterms and everything you had on your plate was simply weighing you down. He just wanted you to take care of yourself because of how much he cared about you. 

He had just taken your favorite hoodie and sweatpants—conveniently missing from his closet Logan had noted—out the dryer with some fresh towels, only having thrown them in there for a few seconds to warm them. He had folded them as nicely as he could manage, before cracking the door to the bathroom to set them on the counter. He kept his gaze downwards, not wanting to disrespect your privacy and just quickly slip in and out. 

“Ugh, what is wrong with you.”

Hearing you speak, he froze mid-step in fear that you were about to be angry with him all over again.

“Like c’mon Y/N this is so dumb, he wasn’t trying to be mean.”

Were you talking to yourself? Logan pondered.

“He’s just trying to look out for you, and here you are being difficult for no reason.”

Logan frowned, he didn’t like the way you spoke to yourself about yourself. He didn’t think you were being difficult, he just thought you needed more support as you dealt with the stress of everything and that it had simply boiled over tonight.

The water dripped to a stop, Logan quickly refocusing and setting the warmed towels and clothes down before slipping out silently to let you change and continue with your routine.

He had made his way back out towards the living room, setting your fuzzy blanket on the sofa and queuing up your favorite movie before reaching for your empty water bottle to refill it. By the time he had filled it to the top, you had appeared in the doorway and stared at him. 

Logan’s heart melted into a puddle at the site. His hoodie swallowed you whole, your socks barely peaking out beneath the sweatpants, and your eyes red-rimmed, and swelling with a new set of tears. A sniffle caught his attention as he set your water bottle down and was immediately striding over to pull you into his arms.

“Baby, don’t cry please,” Logan cooed as his heart ached.

“I’m sorry for getting mad for no reason,” you mumbled into his chest.

“It wasn’t no reason, you were overwhelmed and stressed,” Logan countered.

“You didn’t deserve that though.”

“Trust me, baby. I can take a lot more than that.” 

You laughed lightly, the sound bright in Logan’s ears as his thumbs came up to brush away the few tears that had managed to escape. Looking beyond Logan’s shoulders, you paused as you realized.

“This hoodie was nice and warm. Did you do my laundry?”

“Maybe,” Logan sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“And my dishes?” Your heart was swelling with adoration for this man.

“Among a few other things,” Logan nodded.

“I don’t deserve you, John,” you said as you gazed helplessly into his gentle brown eyes.

“I would do it a million times over for you, baby. C’mon, go get comfy. Food should be here any minute now.”

Logan led you to the sofa, happy he could just take a few small things off your shoulders and get you to take a break. He admired the smile when you realized he’d ordered your favorite without you having to ask, and he cherished every small giggle as your favorite movie played. As you watched the scenes you’d long since memorized play out, Logan watched you. He was content as well as relieved that the silly little argument remained just that.

Logan loved taking care of you, almost as much as he loved you. Every chance he got, he intended to show that to you. 

5.

The fifth time Logan almost said he loved you, he couldn’t bring himself to do it because he was convinced you were too drunk to remember.

You had gone out for a girls’ night with Allie and Hannah, the three of you hitting your favorite bars and dancing the night away as you talked about everything under the sun from your respective relationships to the way midterms and group projects had been kicking your asses this semester. It was a fun change of pace, just hanging out and having fun. 

By the time you had gotten to the end of the night, you and Allie were well-beyond just tipsy and gallivanting towards wildly drunk. Hannah had the good conscious to remain somewhat sober, and had called in the reinforcements to rein you and Allie’s antics in. What Hannah hadn’t accounted for, was you being just far enough gone to not recognize your own boyfriend. When Logan arrived to take you home, he was desperately trying to hold back his laughter as he assessed the state you were in. You were slumped against the bar, absentmindedly swirling a straw in your drink. You were sullenly watching as Garrett and Dean had arrived to join their girls as you waited listlessly for Logan to make his appearance.

“Hi, baby,” he greeted you. 

Looking over your shoulder, you gave him the nastiest look Logan had ever seen you muster as you side-eyed him.

“I have a boyfriend, dude,” Vitriol coated every syllable of your words, the sheer magnitude of sass catching Logan off guard. 

“Ah, I don’t see him,” Logan pretended to look around.

“My boyfriend is picking me up, don’t get any ideas weirdo,” you continued to twist your straw around.

“Oh really, he left you out here all alone?”

“It was girls’ night, dude. He’s not a girl therefore he’s not included,” you didn’t even spare a backwards glance as you rolled your eyes.

“Well, hopefully he’s coming soon then,” Logan took the seat next to you, flagging down the bartender so he could pay your tab.

“I know, I just miss him soooo much,” you sighed.

“He must be a really great guy,” Logan was having fun with this conversation.

“Oh, he’s just the best,” you agreed.

“Tell me about him,” Logan grabbed the check from the bartender, nodding in appreciation as he grabbed his wallet to pay.

“He’s so pretty, he’s got curly hair and dimples. Oh! And he pisses me off,” you stated, quickly disrupting into giggles afterwards.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What? Why does he piss you off?” 

“Because, he’s got really nice, long eyelashes. Like why? How dare he?” You gave up playing with your straw.

“He sounds like just the worst,” Logan nodded.

“No, he’s the best. I said that already.”

“You just told me what pisses you off about him, what makes him the best then?”

“He’s a mechanic, and a plumber! Not officially but like he’s really good at those things. He is I think the best guy I’ve ever met, he’s so sweet and kind. He cares more than he lets on. Oh and he’s also really smart and athletic,” you listed on and on.

“Does this guy have a name?” Logan turned back towards you, having signed the check for your tab and gathering up your bag and jacket.

“He goes by his last name, Logan. But I like to call him John because he gets super flustered and the tips of his ears turn pink,” you admitted with a giggle. 

Logan could feel the blush washing over his face and down his neck as you said this, despite being not at all baffled that you had been doing it on purpose.

“So John Logan, eh? Isn’t he a hockey player?” Logan coughed as he tried to recover and continue the conversation.

“Oh my gosh yes! Do you know him?” You had excitedly sat up in the barstool, ready to talk about your boyfriend more.

“I think you’re looking at him, baby,” Logan grinned.

Confused, you leaned closer and squinted as you raked over his features. It took a moment through your drunken stupor, but as you took in the curls and the brown eyes and dimples, realization washed over you.

“John! There you are! When did you get here? I missed you,” you exclaimed as you had finally recognized your boyfriend.

“Hi baby, I missed you too. You ready to go?” Logan had grabbed your jacket, holding it out so you could slide your arms in. 

You stood from the bar stool, shimmying your body into your jacket before turning around and wrapping your arms around Logan’s middle. You inhaled deeply as the scent of his soap and cologne infiltrated your senses.

Sighing contently, you whispered, “Can I stay at yours tonight, please?”

Logan smiled as he pressed a soft kiss to your hairline.

“I’d love that, baby. Let’s go,” Logan pulled your hand towards the exit, stopping so you could say bye to the girls you were going to see in about 15 minutes at the hockey house.

You were quiet as you let Logan lead you to his truck and buckle you into his passenger seat. Logan had gently closed your door, walking around the front to the driver’s side and hopping in. As he adjusted the temperature settings for you, you broke the silence.

“This guy was asking me all sorts of questions about you, John.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan couldn’t help his grin.

“Yeah, I told him I had a boyfriend and then all he could ask about was you! Can’t blame him though, you’re pretty great.”

Logan turned to find you already staring at him. Your head pressed into the seat, your eyes had glazed over and your pupils dilated, a soft flush had settled across your features and was barely seen under the pale glow of the streetlights. You were practically incandescent, Logan relaxing in his seat as he almost said it, his mouth opening and closing as you began to shake from laughter and breaking him out of his trance.

Logan wanted it to be special when he told you that he loved you, he wanted you to remember. He was ready, he wanted to tell you just how deeply his adoration for you ran.

+the 1 time you beat him to it

You and Logan had been dancing around the subject for awhile, neither one saying the dreaded “L Word” as weeks turned into months and you had started getting antsy. You knew how you felt about Logan, you knew that you loved him and you felt like your relationship was only getting stronger every day. But, that didn’t stop the anxiety that had been plaguing you about who would say it first. Which led you to tonight, in which you were going to just rip the bandaid off and tell Logan exactly how you felt and be done with it.

Once you had worked up the courage, that is.

You two had decided to go for a romantic walk now that the weather was starting to warm up, the spring air and recent rain turning everything a bright green. Flowers had begun sprouting along the path, the sun setting behind the trees as you had been absentmindedly walking along. Talking about anything and everything, your hands entwined as Logan rubbed circles into your hand with his thumb. 

Continuing along, the two of you knew this path like the back of your hands. You basked in each other’s presence, just content and happy to be together. As the sun continued to set on the horizon, you stumbled upon your special spot. 

In the park you two frequented, there was a massive boulder that overlooked the pond that you two loved to come and sit and be in each other’s company. It was just slightly off the beaten path, but it offered a bit of privacy. You had shown it to Logan back when you were just friends, and it ended up being the place that Logan would ask you out. You smiled at the memory.

“What are you smiling at?” Logan asked, peeping down at you as he swung your intertwined hands back and forth.

“Just thinking,” you replied.

“Anything in particular?” 

“Actually I was just remembering how this was where you finally asked me out, took you long enough,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.

“You have no idea how long I had been dreaming about asking you out,” Logan groaned.

You looked out across the pond, an idea springing to your mind.

“I want to go swimming,” you stated firmly.

“What? Y/N it’s going to be so cold. It’s only just started getting warm out,” Logan looked at you like you’d maybe lost your mind a bit.

“Aren’t you a hockey player, John? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little cold,” you had already started slipping off your shoes, hopping down off the rock as you made your way towards the pond.

Logan could only stare momentarily as you slipped off your shirt, your light reflecting off the bond and dancing across your skin as the sun had almost completely set now. 

“You coming?” You called back to Logan over your shoulder, having stepped out of your shorts and just standing in your bra and underwear.

You had always been a sight for sore eyes, your beauty taking Logan’s breath away every time. 

He found you mesmerizing. And that often worked in your favor, as it did now when Logan found himself following you towards the pond and pulling his hoodie over his shoulders.

You grinned as you waited for him, reaching your hand out towards him and beckoning for him to join you. He had also stripped down to his underwear, your eyes raking over him as you appreciated way the sparse light reflected across his toned muscles.

“Like what you see?” Logan smirked, intertwining his hand with yours again.

“I think you know I do, come on,” you scoffed as you pulled Logan with you, wading into the water.

“Shit, I told you it was going to be cold,” Logan’s shoulders tensed as he waded deeper, instinctively bringing you close to his chest to keep you warm.

You shivered lightly in Logan’s arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you both floated along in the pond. The sun had fully set, the moonlight being the only thing reflecting in the shadows that danced across your faces as you stared deeply into each other’s eyes.

You stayed silent for a moment, reveling in each other as you quietly whispered the one thing that had been constantly at the forefront of your mind.

“I love you, John.”

Your voice had barely been above a whisper. Logan looked like he could hardly believe what he’d heard, like maybe he’d been imagining it. He’d been trying to find the perfect moment to say it over the last four months, and you’d beaten him to it. 

As the quiet continued to stretch, you began to second guess yourself as doubt set in. You pushed out of Logan’s arms a bit, worried you had just ruined everything.

“John, if you don’t feel the same, I—”

Logan’s brain caught up to his ears as he realized, not giving you the opportunity to put any distance between the two of you. He reached out, his hands resting against the side of your face and the back of your neck as he pulled you in. 

His lips hungrily met yours, Logan’s heart beating out of his chest as every nerve ignited in his body. He felt impossibly warm with you in the cold pond, pulling away as your eyes stayed close for a brief moment. You were breathing hard and deep, your lips swollen as you finally opened your eyes and stared back into Logan’s. 

“I love you, Y/N. Sorry it took me a second, I just couldn’t believe you beat me to it,” Logan chuckled, his hand never once leaving your face. You smiled once more, letting Logan tug you closer as the hand that had been on your neck found your waist and moved to support you as you wrapped your legs around him. 

Your lips met his once again, a moan escaping from somewhere deep inside as Logan weaved his fingers into your hair. You two were so wrapped up in each other, enveloped in the moonlight that you hardly noticed the cold anymore.

You had beaten him to it, but Logan intended to tell you all the ways he’d learned he loved you. Even if it took all night long.

A/N: as always, you know this isn't proofread. pretend you don't see the typos bby plz I beg. also please leave me some comments or send some requests! it makes me so so so happy to see your messages and y'all make me laugh I love reading them <3 forehead kisses for you all x.

general taglist: @sue-me-i-wanna-be-wanted @run-for-the-hills

[andy-15-07]

hello my love!! for pride month, could you please write john logan with a bi reader? thank you <3

He knows

Pairing: John Logan  x Reader

Word Count: 675

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

John Logan learned your favorite color before you told him.

He learned the songs you sang under your breath when you thought nobody was listening. He learned the kind of coffee you ordered, the way you liked your fries salted, the fact that you always got a little shy when somebody complimented your smile.

He learned all of it the way he learned most things about you: quietly, carefully, because he wanted to.

What he did not know right away was how to name the exact feeling he got when he looked at you and realized he loved the whole shape of who you were.

That came later.

It came one pride month afternoon, when you showed up at the hockey house wearing a shirt that made you feel good in the exact way clothes should. You had your hair done, your jewelry on, and that easy, glowing confidence that seemed to settle around you when you were fully yourself.

John looked up from the kitchen counter and stopped.

You noticed instantly. “What?”

He blinked once, then smiled. “Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

He laughed quietly and crossed the room, stopping in front of you. “You look good.”

You lifted your brows. “That’s it?”

His eyes softened. “No.”

You tilted your head, waiting.

John looked at you for a second, then said, “You look happy.”

That got to you more than the compliment did.

You smiled a little. “I am.”

He nodded, like that answered something for him.

You watched him for a second, then asked, “Do you know what I mean when I say I feel really seen in clothes like this?”

John’s expression changed immediately into full attention. “Tell me.”

The question was so simple it made your chest ache.

You looked down for a second, then back up. “It’s just… sometimes people act like being bi is some weird thing they need to figure out, like they have to assign me to one side or the other. And I’m not either/or. I’m me.”

John’s face went soft in a way that made you trust him immediately.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “You get that?”

“Yeah,” he said again, quieter this time. “You’re not a category.”

That made your throat tighten.

He kept looking at you like he meant every word.

“I like all of you,” he said. “The part that likes girls, the part that likes guys, the part that laughs at bad jokes, the part that gets quiet when something matters. All of it.”

You stared at him for a second because there were some moments where John said exactly the right thing in exactly the calm tone you needed and it made you feel like maybe the universe had been a little kinder than usual.

“John,” you whispered.

He smiled a little. “What?”

“You’re very good at this.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m very good at you.”

That made you laugh, and he smiled because he had clearly done it on purpose to get that reaction.

You stepped closer and touched his chest lightly. “Do you know how rare that is?”

“What?”

“To say something like that without making it weird.”

John looked at you, calm and certain. “It’s not weird if I mean it.”

Your heart turned over.

He leaned in just enough to kiss your forehead and then your temple, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “And I do mean it.”

You smiled into his shirt when you leaned against him. “Happy pride month to me.”

John’s hand settled at the small of your back. “Happy pride month to you.”

Then, because he was John and couldn’t help being softly devastating, he added, “I’m glad you’re exactly who you are.”

That one got you.

You looked up at him with a smile that was equal parts fond and overwhelmed. “You’re going to make me fall harder.”

He looked absurdly pleased with himself. “Good.”

And because it was him, and because he said it like it was the most normal truth in the world, you believed him.

[alwaysforgr63]

Spark | JL22

Pairing: John Logan x Female!Reader

Summary: The exhaustion of their last game and the quick celebration they had should’ve knocked Logan to sleep but he found himself in his car, the clock on his phone blinking at him at four AM, his mind keeping him awake for many reasons he could no longer list. You, on the other hand, are on the other side of the world for an exchange student program, thirteen hours ahead of his time. It only took one unexpected call to make everything feel a little better.

Warning/s: Fluff. Hurt. Comfort. Angst. Self-doubt. Mention of stress. Mention of family issues. Overthinking. Logan depends on the reader and feels guilty about it. Grammar/spelling. If I missed something, let me know kindly!

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimer: Some information came from the book, The Mistake, and I am in no way, shape, or form, claiming it as my own. 

A/N: I wrote a similar one for my other fandom, F1, and this is the hockey/John Logan version of it. I’ve been writing this for so long and I couldn’t seem to know how to end it. I was listening to Last Hope (Paramore) and Just A Little Rain (Antonio Cipriano) while writing this along with the poem.

Anyhow, enjoy this one as well! Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!

MASTERLIST.

Please do not translate and repost.

Divider by chrisssiren.

the sky was clear that night

no constellation in sight

like a melancholic embrace of doubt

asking himself, “will it always be this tough?”

that’s when she said,

“stars can be found on land too.”

Logan lost count on how many hours have passed since their last game, since he got home from their celebration at Malone’s. He didn’t even remember how many drinks he had nor did he hear if After Hours came back on stage after Justin joined their table. Was it Dean or was it Tucker who drove them back to the hockey house? Maybe it was Birdie since he loves crashing at their place. Or did Garrett just remind them to be up at seven AM for training? None of it made sense in his mind. He couldn’t even distinguish if some of those even happened or he was imagining things.

What he did remember was sending you a message after the game, he mentioned that they won and they were heading to the diner for a quick hang out. He sent you a message saying that he missed you, saying that he couldn’t wait for you to be back to celebrate the occasions you missed with them. He also sent you a voice note once he got home, he was still a bit drunk but his voice was clear and so was his message.

“Hey, love. How are you? Don’t forget to eat today, okay? I’m on my bed now, we just got back from Malone’s and I wanna say good night—to me and have a nice day to you. You’re almost back home and I just gotta say that … I’m missing you a lot. Things are just not the same when you’re not here, but I’m okay. We’re doing really awesome here. Six months is a long time but I am very proud of you for taking this big step in your academic career. Just two more months, right? Anyway, call me when you can, alright? Be safe out there, I love you.”

Logan also remembered waiting for your response but after a few minutes of silence, he figured that maybe you were in class or taking a nap. Nonetheless, the reply he had been waiting for only came while he was in the shower. Logan groaned when he saw that you called two times. He was about to call back when he received two notifications from you—a video and a voice message. 

He hurriedly opened it, and he watched with a small smile as you awkwardly recorded your surroundings. It was a big university, much like Briar, and he could sense that you were having a great time even though it was only a ten-second video. He watched it over and over again, especially the last part where you showed yourself, happily grinning at the camera—at him. He paused the video exactly when the frame had you in the center, engraving the look in his mind while knowing well that he could replay it anytime he wants too.

But he’s Logan and the longest he had been away from you was two weeks, during summer break, and he drove seven hours just to see you. If he’s being honest, he didn’t know how he lasted four months being away from you. Maybe it was the constant reminder that both of you are doing something really big and important for your future careers. Maybe it was the fact that at the end of his day and the start of yours—and vice versa—you always got each other’s back, despite the distance.

Logan sighed, reminding himself that you’ll be home soon. That in just a few weeks, he’ll be holding you and you’ll be in his arms; no more screens, no more distance, no more difference in time zones. He closed the video and played your voice message this time, shutting his eyes as your voice echoed in his room. He thought that maybe, if he did that, he’d feel closer to you. He’d feel you beside him, he’d feel like you’re whispering to him like a soft lullaby that will bring him to sleep.

“Hello, John! Congratulations to you and the team! I am so sorry I wasn’t able to reply earlier, I was in class. I tried calling you but I guess you’re sleeping already. I missed you too, baby, very much. I am almost home, yes, that’s correct. And I cannot wait to see my best cheerleader holding a banner for me at the airport. Yep, I’m talking about you.”

You laughed and Logan swore he just won another game. As cheesy as it sounds but that’s how you made him feel, like a boy who blushes with a response as simple as your laugh. And he’s not embarrassed about it. If anything, he embraces the softness you bring out in him.

The sound lingered in his room and when it faded, a short pause followed, like you were choosing which thing to say. Logan looked at his phone and saw that there were still a few seconds left to your message, but he didn’t dare to play it forward. That’s how he figured that he didn’t just miss you, he longs for you. Because even your silence could make him feel like you’re closer. So he only waited for your next words, pressing the phone to his ear this time. And he almost sobbed when he heard you, clamping his hand over his mouth as if the sound would reach you if he didn’t.

“I know you’re doing awesome, I’ve seen the photos from your social media. Tucker sent me an unreasonable amount of photos of you everyday, not complaining though, I love them. But you know what I also know? I know that you’re awesome at hiding your emotions, but I can see it. I heard it in your voice, loud and clear. I’m here, Johnny. We might be thousands of miles apart but I am always with you. Please, don’t hide from me, okay? I’m here and I will listen. Call me back as soon as you can. Good night, baby.”

Logan dropped his phone beside his head when your voice message stopped. Your words echoing in his mind this time, going over them as he kept his tears at bay. He should’ve known that you’ll know, that you’ll hear him. Because if there’s anyone in the world who could read him, it would be you. No matter the distance, you’d see and hear him.

You know the different versions of his silence; his silence when he’s listening, when he’s observing, when he’s thinking, when he’s spacing out, even the silence when he’s most loud. You know the meaning behind his words without saying it, the meaning behind the tone of his voice, the meaning when his finger reaches out to touch your pinky or when he lays his head on the space over your chest, where he could hear the faint beating of your heart. And when he mentioned that things are not the same when you’re not with him but he’s okay? He’s definitely not.

Logan is many things, but he’s not one to seek for help, he’s not one to depend on others. When the situation gets overwhelming, he’d rather keep to himself and let it pass until he’s okay. Telling himself that he’s carrying enough weight, he doesn’t need to drag others with him. But then you sat him down one night when you didn’t hear from him all day because he was in the garage and he had to take care of his drunk father and he missed an exam. You let him know that if he wants things to work out, in the sense of his academics, playing hockey, and your relationship, he has to accept that it’s okay to rely on others too, that he can rely on you.

Logan still remembers what you said so vividly, like he only heard it yesterday.

“Logan, you can’t keep doing this alone. I understand that you’ve learned how to carry responsibilities by yourself without a complaint, like it’s not weighing you down. And I also understand that he’s family—but I am now too. The moment you decided to become a part of my life and I allowed you to, the same thing applies to you. You don’t have to do it alone. Not when you have me. Let me in, baby, please. I can’t keep watching you like this when I know damn well I can help, in ways that I can, in ways that you’ll let me.”

So, he did. He told you everything. About his family, about his dad, about his brother, about the draft, the life after college. Once he was done, he was expecting you to pity him, to walk out on him, to break up with him even. But you just engulfed him with a hug, your right hand went to massaged the back of his neck while the other one rubbed slowly at his back. You kissed whatever part of him you could reach until he fell asleep in your arms. He woke up alone in his bed the next morning, but you left him a note.

“Good morning! I have an early class, but I meant what I said last night. We give and we take, okay? We’ll make it work. ILY.”

And you did. You helped him in ways that don’t make him feel like he’s passing his obligations to you. When you know that he’s needed in the garage for the weekend but he hasn’t finished an essay or a project, you’d tell him you’ll do it for him if you’re free or you’d remind him to do it; staying on the phone with him suggesting ideas. You’d bring him snacks with Allie and Hannah during practice when Coach Jensen is being lenient with girlfriends watching over. There are things in his life that you made easier for him and he’s forever grateful for everything.

Give and take, John. We give and take.

Logan sat up on his bed as he got reminded of your words, letting it swirl in his mind as he slowly felt a migraine forming. He picked up his phone, thinking of sending you another message. His fingers hover above the keyboard, typing and deleting the words over and over again, now debating whether it was a good idea or not. In the end, he discarded the thought and put on a new set of clothes before grabbing his keys as he descended the stairs to get to his pick up. The engine roared into life and Logan drove into the empty street, in hopes that it would help divert his attention.

He’s depending on you a lot and you don’t need to worry about him when you’re out there discovering the world. You need to focus on your goals and for Logan, while you made it clear that he’s part of it, he couldn’t help but think that he’s distracting you sometimes. And he doesn’t want to be the reason why you can’t be at your full potential. You don’t need to deal with his responsibilities, those were his to carry. 

Given, you never made him feel like he’s burdening you nor he’s taking your attention away from your dreams. You never once confronted him when he lets himself be vulnerable, you don’t make fun of him. You just let him exist beside you, bare of all the mask and cloak he had to wear just to show others he’s doing fine. And you were the same to him. You depend on him too. When the pressure gets too much, when the expectations set a bar too high, when you just want to disappear for a moment because everything is suddenly very hard to deal with; you turn to him.

The relationship you’ve built together was not selfish and both of you understood that the system of giving and taking goes both ways. You reciprocate the energy, communicate about each other’s needs, and you don’t keep score of what you’ve given or taken. But while Logan was very much well aware of this, he feels like he’s abusing it even though it wasn’t his intention and he doesn’t want that to be the reason why you’re gonna get tired of him.

That’s how his mind goes on a rare roller coaster ride. A rare occurrence when his thoughts go at full speed he could barely keep up with it. He’s usually in control of his own mind, he deals with things like a to-do list. He has the most important one at the top and he will think about the rest later. But that doesn’t seem to be the case as he continues driving, the night getting deeper the longer he takes the road, the destination still uncertain.

Logan kept on making turns, stopping at red lights and going full speed when the premise allowed him. The streets and the homes he passed by have quieted down, the people have come to rest, and even the clubs don't sound loud as they supposed to, and he could only wish the same to him.

At that moment, Logan envied the serenity of his surroundings. Because while the rest of the world seemed to finally find calm, he was left cruising still looking for his own. And it appears like the faster he drives and the more he delves deeper into the night, his mind is doing the same thing.

Will I ever make it to the NHL?

What about the draft?

Am I a bad son for wanting a different life after college?

Is it going to be me, the garage, the house, and dad for life?

Am I really enough for my girl? Do I make her happy?

Will it always be this tough?

Logan abruptly stopped the car at the last question, his upper body lunging forward despite the seat belt and he had to take a few breaths to calm down, willing his mind to do the same so he could finally feel at peace. He’s usually good at this, being in control of his own mind. He doesn’t even understand where the thoughts are coming from. Was it because of the exhaustion? The pressure? Does he miss you a lot? He doesn’t know, and he also doesn’t know where to go at that moment without feeling like the spark that ignited in his heart to do the things he loves the most is toning down into ash.

“This has always been the dream, going pro is the goal. But why does it feel like the doors toward it have closed on me even before I could find it?”

All he wanted that instant was to rest, there's another night to think matters over, but that very one thing he craves is far his reach. So instead, he turned the engine off and let the silence take over. After a few seconds, Logan observed the place around him and noticed that he's near the water tower where you and he always go just to clear your minds off. Must be muscle memory, he thought. Because despite the chaos in his mind, it still led him to the place he shares with you. Where calm and chaos mixed and turned into hope that you both share, that even in the darkest space, light could still be found.

He wasn't sure how many hours has it been since their game, since he left the hockey house or how long he's been driving before he paused, until his phone alarm blared off that broke the silence. He was about to turn it off, but the alarm stopped and the glow of light on his phone slowly dimmed till he saw his own reflection on it.

He saw himself.

The first thing he noticed was how exhausted he looked; his usually soft hair was messy, his skin was dry—there was even a patch that looked drier than the rest—due to stress, and his eyes, though still holding the same yearning in them, appeared to be dull. In other cases, he’d immediately recognize the boy that he was. The one his father taught how to skate and play hockey, he’d recognize the determination and the hopeful dream of becoming a professional player. Yet now, all he could see was a man in much need of hope and time. Except, it seemed to be running out when he needed it most.

The alarm tone rang again, snapping Logan back from his reverie. He let out a long sigh, a heavy one at that, when he saw that it’s already four AM. He didn’t get to rest, he didn’t get to silence his mind, he didn’t get to understand anything. But it’s four AM, and it only means five PM in your time and you're probably on your way back to your dorm. And it also means that you’d call—or he’d call you—in two hours. Logan thought that that would be enough time to go back to the hockey house, make himself sound like he just woke up and he’d pretend that none of his late night drive happened and you’ll have nothing to worry about.

Logan thought it was a good plan. He was ready to drive back home, moving to turn the engine back on, but his phone rang and there your name was, calling him at four AM, halting his movements.

For a moment, Logan forgot how to move. Both of you have created a schedule for the whole week and decided what time would be the most convenient for the two of you to talk; and it wasn’t supposed to be now. He was left stunned and without meaning to, he just let the phone ring until silence overtook once more. That’s when he comes back to his senses, a heavier feeling landing on his chest upon realizing that he missed your call.

But it didn’t take long before it started ringing again. Your contact name sat atop his screen, glowing like a spark he so wanted to see, and it lifted the uneasy feeling right away.

Why do you always seem to know when to appear?

Logan picked up the call. His hand was a little bit shaky when he pressed the small device against his ear and his eyes automatically closed when he heard your voice, quiet, almost like a whisper, as if you’re telling him a secret you don’t want to share with anyone else.

“Hey, baby. I’m so sorry I’ve been calling, did I wake you?” Logan cleared his throat, practicing in his mind how he sounded every morning when he just woke up and hoping that once you heard him, you’d believe the lie he planned to tell. He rested his head against the window, his eyes darting around his environment as it landed on the water tower ahead.

“No, love.” He whispered, preventing the urge to slap himself when his voice cracked, a total slip up to his plan. He coughed, an attempt to cover for his mishap, and swallowed hard. “No, love. You didn’t wake me. I was, uhm, I was actually up already. I’m preparing for an early practice.”

There was a brief pause on your end and it suddenly feels like déjà vu. Because Logan heard this silence earlier, when you sent him a voice message and clearly read his every emotion despite the distance. It was only a short pause, but it felt like forever as he held his breath in anticipation, praying that you heard nothing but his words, nothing but his lie, and not the underlying exhaustion laced with his voice.

But who was he kidding? You heard him the first time, of course you’ll hear him again. Clearer and louder this time.

“John.” Your voice was still soft per se, but there was a hint of warning in it now. Like you already know what he was up to and you’re not about to take any shits from him. “You’re not in your room, I can hear it. The echoes are not the same, it doesn’t have the same sound. And your voice, baby, … talk to me.”

A bitter and humble smile painted Logan’s lips, his eyes moisting despite trying not to. He cleared his voice when he felt a lump forming when he realized that you really knew him better than anyone else in the world. He could fool the agents and the scouts, he could fool his teammates, his friends, his father, and his brother, even himself—but he could never fool you. He is very certain that you knew the meaning of his breathing right now.

“I just took a drive, love. I couldn’t sleep, too much adrenaline from the game, I think.” He half confessed, gripping the steering wheel with his free hand. He winced at himself for not telling you the other half of the reason why he’s outside, but he thought that it would be best if he kept that to himself.

“A drive? At four in the morning?” The gentleness that your question carried made him take a deep breath, covering his mouth when he let out a shudder. He tried to focus on you to stop himself from feeling more vulnerable than he already was and he heard a hustling sound on your end, followed by a door closing. You’ve probably reached your dorm as Logan heard the familiar sound of the music box he gifted you before you left for the internship program, the sound immediately calming his mind.

“Baby, are you still with me? Where are you right now?” Logan looked up through the windshield, his head still resting on the window. The outline of the water tower is in his line of view, the sky is still dark behind it, but it doesn't feel that heavy anymore than when he first arrived.

“Our spot.”

Logan simply answered. You didn't reply right away, you just let the words linger between you. There was silence, but it wasn't dreadful. It was rather warm, like your version of virtual embrace and Logan swore he could almost feel your arms reaching him through the line, wrapping him in a safe hug. To protect him from the world, to protect him from his own mind. Like what you and him always do whenever you end up at the top of the tower.

“Oh, Johnny. The thoughts got too loud again, didn't they?” You sighed quietly when he didn't answer. Because honestly, he couldn't. The lump in his throat got so thick and suffocating it feels like he's being choked. And he's afraid that if he spoke, he'd sob and cry his heart out. He pressed a hand over his mouth again, fighting the overwhelming urge to let the tears fall.

But you already caught him by the sound of his breathing; it was muffled, kept, and you knew that he’s really trying not to cry.

“Baby, remember what we said?” Logan harshly wiped at his eyes, listening intently on your words as it cut through the static, as it crossed the distance and ocean separating you from him. “Give and take. It sounds unrealistic, I know, but that’s what we do and it works for us. Don’t carry the weight all on your own, baby, allow me to take some of it from you. Did you know why I called as early as now? Because something’s telling me that I should, and I could feel you thinking from all the way here, John.”

“I—I don’t want to ruin this for you.” It feels like your heart physically gave up on itself when you heard Logan, his voice broken and shaking as the words tumbled out before he could filter them. His mind is in a mess and you can hear him by the way he’s speaking.

“Love, you’re doing something incredible out there in the world. You’re building your future, discovering things, making me so proud, and I’m stuck here. I’m driving in circles at four in the morning, wondering if I’m good enough to achieve the dreams I want for myself, for us. I’m wondering if there’s even a chance for me or I’ll be in the garage forever. I’m wondering if every time I call you or share my concerns with you … I’m wondering if I’m dragging you with me.”

Logan heard you intake a sharp breath, followed by a soft, “It’s okay, just keep talking to me. I’m not going anywhere.” This time, it was his turn to feel it. Like his heart is being torn apart, both because of the fact that you’re hurting with him and the reality that you’re just listening to him without any judgment. 

That was enough for Logan to spill everything he’s been carrying and thinking all night after the game. The pressure, the expectations, the agents and scouts, the persuasion of his coach and teammates, his father, the garage, and the uncertainty of his future. He let it all out without a pause. All the while, you didn’t interject. You only hummed to let him know that you’re still there and as you promised, you didn’t go anywhere.

You only spoke when Logan asked you to. Your words were careful, but it still carried the truth he deserved to hear. Because that’s what he needs, someone who will listen and help him untangle the thoughts in his mind. You reassured him that he will make it, though it will be difficult, that there’s a life for him outside the garage, that there must be another way to take care of his father, and that the doors of his future haven't been closed on him. It’s just that the great things awaiting him take time to build, and they aren’t quite ready yet for a man like him who has massive dreams.

Then you call out for him. “John, can you look at the sky right now and tell me what you see?”

He moved from his position and shifted his gaze up through the glass of his vehicle. The sky was vast, empty, and devoid of the brilliant constellations that usually guided travelers and dreamers—like him. It felt lonely and it felt exactly how he felt inside. But for some reason, it also felt like an assurance, like there’s something more to the empty space he’s looking at that he cannot see yet.

“Nothing. It’s just the sky; no stars, no constellations, no spark. It’s just empty.” Logan whispered, but his voice is no longer laced with exhaustion. You exhaled on the other end followed by a chuckle, he heard a bit of shuffling until the sound of the music box echoed again.

“That’s funny. It was the same to me a few nights back. My sky was also empty, and it felt a little melancholic looking at it. Like it’s asking itself if it will always be so tough to shine and do people only look at it and find it hopeful when there are stars to make it shine? And then you called me.”

Logan swallowed hard, waiting for your next words even though he knew in his heart what you were implying to say. Still, he listened and he waited. “Yeah?”

“And I realized, maybe I shouldn’t be looking at the sky because stars aren’t in it. I realized, stars can be found on land too.” You whispered the last sentence, your voice dropping to that soft tone you used earlier, like it was only reserved for him.

“You are my star, baby. You shine so bright every single day, whether you’re on the ice, helping your family and the business, with your friends, or just being the man that I love so, so dearly. Your path isn’t easy, Johnny, that means mine isn’t too. But I want you to remember that you are not a distraction, you are not a burden. Because the truth is, you are the light I look for when my own days get too dark to handle. But stars like you deserve to rest too, you don’t have to shine all the time. The sky might be empty but it doesn’t mean it will never shine again.

“All I’m saying is, let me carry the rest of the night for you. And in the morning, find the strength to spark and shine again. Because, John, we are a team. We give, and we take.”

Logan’s breath hitched as another wave of emotion crashed through him. The tears escaped one by one, hot and fast, down his cheeks as he held the phone away from him for a moment. Logan let out a shaky, trembling breath, the suffocating pressure in his chest slowly lifting and being replaced by a sincere, aching warmth and longing for you. He pressed the phone back on his ear and cleared his throat.

“We give, and we take.” He choked out as he heard you repeat his words. His grip on the device tightened, as if he could pull you closer through the screen if he held on it a little tighter. “And two more months. Just two more months and you’ll be home.”

“That’s right, baby, two more months. And then I’ll be holding you at the airport and the rest of the night. No more screens and distance, just the two of us.” You confirmed gently, as silence takes over the call. You let Logan and his quietness, because that means he’s allowed himself to feel everything and he’s letting you control the course of his night.

Logan leaned back against his seat, a genuine smile finally making its way on his lips. Albeit tired, he’s at peace knowing that the thing he has been craving all night eventually reached him. He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. The dullness in his eyes hadn’t completely vanished, but the spark was returning. Ignited by the only person that mattered.

By you.

“Hey, love?” He whispered into the quiet space of his truck and you hummed in reply. “Thank you for being here, for the things you’ve done for me, and for everything else. I love you.”

“I love you more, baby. You know I’ll do it all over again because that’s what we do. Now, drive back to the hockey house and get some sleep, okay? I’ve got you.”

Logan breathed, starting the engine, the roar of the truck no longer sounding like chaos, but like a path leading him back home. The smile on his lips never left as he tracked down the path back home, giving the water tower one last glance as he noticed that the sky was now being accompanied with orange hues, the sun slowly peeking behind.

“Yeah, you’ve got me.”

You hung up the phone after and Logan received a message after.

“The sun’s here, baby, and I know you haven’t slept yet. But that is a promise that today could be better too. See you very soon, I love you!”

That was all it took for Logan to feel better as he drove back to the house, the doubt replaced by pure relief. The weight he’s carrying felt half that its actual weight and he felt way better than he’s ever been in weeks. And he couldn’t wait to finally see you again.

The spark of hope in his life when everything felt dim.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! See you on the next one and stay safe!

[coeurdalene]

like water in the palm of my hand

masterlist | ao3

summary: john logan just wants to celebrate with his girl after winning a game. is that too much to ask for?

pairing: john logan x reader

warning(s): mentions of alcohol.

word count: 1.40k

a/n: i keep taking breaks from other fics to start new ones and then never finish the old ones oops. but i did finish this one! i haven’t read the books.

Briar enters the final minutes of the game with a two-point lead and a competitor desperate to make up the difference. Logan watches as the opposing goalie skates back toward the bench and an additional attacker hops over the boards. His eyes meet Garrett’s, the shared understanding of it’s not over yet, before lining up around the faceoff dot.

It’s not over yet, but he’s not worried. They’ve played a clean game of completing passes and taking advantage of shot opportunities. He’s even managed to avoid any penalties. (He can’t wait to gloat to you later about that latter fact. Self-satisfied post-win celebratory-drunk grin, hey, baby, I told you I could get through a game without a trip to the box.)

The crowd buzzes with hesitant excitement, rowdy in that old-school barn kind of way. When he skates past the student section, he can faintly hear Jules’s commentary over the thrum.

A shrill whistle cuts through the cacophony, followed by a different kind of noise: the puck smacking down onto the ice and a clattering of sticks. The clock starts counting down.

Shot fired wide and picked back up by someone on the other team. Two minutes left. Logan checks a guy into the boards, the blade of his stick missing the puck by a hair. Another shot, blocked by Briar’s netminder Simms, the opposition quick on the rebound. One minute. Another shot, again.

Then the puck comes loose, Tucker poking it out and flinging it down the ice. Logan seizes the opening, racing after it, a couple of players from the other team hot on his heels. He catches up to it as he crosses the blue line, pulling his stick back then releasing the tension, sailing the puck straight to the back of the empty net. The rink erupts in cheer.

He really can’t wait to gloat to you now.

You’re dancing in the center of the living room with Hannah and Allie. Logan can’t help but stare at the sway of your hips and the delicate curve of your lips as you sing along to some song off of Dean’s victory party playlist. He isn’t sure how long he’s been leaning against the wall, captivated by your every move, but the beer in his hand that he’d pulled from the fridge before settling at the edge of the dancefloor is now lukewarm.

Allie leans over to whisper-shout something in your ear and he can just barely hear your glittery laugh over the pounding music. Your head turns, eyes catching his from across the room. The smile you shoot his way dazzles and he has the sudden urge to drop everything and kiss you senseless. He beams back, downs the rest of his beer, discards the bottle on a side table already overflowing with forgotten cups and empty cans, and pushes himself off the wall toward you.

He’s barely taken a step when Jules pops out in front of him. Logan swears in surprise—his hope of joining you on the floor now dashed—but it quickly settles into annoyance. He rolls his eyes, then immediately feels guilty when Jules exaggerates an offended scoff.

“Damn, you look happy to see me,” they joke. “I was gonna compliment your empty netter, but it seems like you don’t want it.”

“No, no, no. I’ll take the compliment,” he recovers. “You just caught me in the middle of something.”

“You mean lurking in a corner pining over a girl?” Jules accuses, throwing a quick glance at you, now hand-in-hand with Hannah, giggling as she twirls you around. “You know that’s your girlfriend, right? You’re way past the yearning stage.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t yearning.”

“You kinda were, man,” a hand claps down on his shoulder and Tucker appears at his side.

“What the- Tuck, not you, too,” Logan grumbles.

“Sorry, bro, it’s the truth,” Tucker puts his hands up in mock-innocence. 

Logan glares at him, then back at Jules, who now has that I told you so expression on her face, the one he’s seen countless times after reaping the consequences of many late-night half-baked alcohol-fueled decisions. He rolls his eyes again in response.

When he looks back to the center of the room, you’re no longer there. Neither are Hannah or Allie. Logan lets out a heavy sigh.

He wouldn’t be as frustrated if he hadn’t been intercepted every single time he tried to get close to you tonight.

Logan watches you walk in at the start of the party, dressed in a black halter top and your favorite pair of jeans—his favorite on you, too—glossy lips turning up when you spot him. He stands up from the couch, ready to greet you with a cocky grin and a kiss, and then immediately feels Dean’s arm around his shoulders, dragging him to the kitchen for a victory shot. Fine, the kiss can wait.

The familiar burn of cheap vodka mixes with the adrenaline-high still abiding from hours before. Dean convinces him, with little resistance, to down another. By the time he’s recovered from the acrid sting left behind in his mouth, you’ve disappeared from the entryway.

Later, Logan finds you at the bottom of the staircase chatting to Kendall, but he gets roped into a conversation about next week’s away trip with Garrett and Birdie before he can even consider making a move in your direction. Then, you’re in the kitchen making yourself another drink, but he’s swept to the other side of the room by Tucker to taste-test the canapés he’d been working on perfecting. At one point, he spots you on the couch laughing with Hannah and Dean, but he’s pulled away to help unclog one of upstairs toilets.

His irritation builds each time. Surely, it can’t be this difficult to celebrate a win with his girl. 

You’re on the dancefloor, alone this time, when he finally manages to catch you. There are no interruptions, mercifully, thankfully, as he sidles up behind, slotting his hands into the little divot of your waist, the bare stretch of skin between the hem of your top and the waistband of your jeans smooth beneath his palms. It feels too easy, after a full night of trying and failing to get so close to you, but he’ll gladly take it.

Your eyes are gentle and your smile has been softened by the alcohol as you turn to face him, a teasing lilt escaping your lips, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Sorry, baby,” Logan chuckles, shoulders relaxing as your arms come up to wrap around his neck, your fingers tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear along the way, “People kept wanting to talk to me.”

“So popular,” you quip. He laughs again.

As you draw him into the rhythm of the music, he takes his time to admire you. In the dim room, the shifting-colored light catches on the hooked shape of his first initial dangling next to yours from a chain around your neck. (An anniversary present that he’s never seen you without since gifting it to you.) His gaze travels across the graceful angle of your jaw, the elegant arch of your eyebrows, the playful curve at the corner of your mouth, and– Oh. Your beautiful mouth, now pressed against his, all-encompassing tenderness and warmth, a lingering sweetness from your last drink. He sinks into it, one hand splaying across your lower back and the other moving up to notch below your chin. 

He’s breathless when you part, regaining just enough composure to say, “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

Without any hesitation, he pulls you back in.

After the party ends, when the downstairs goes quiet and you’ve tucked yourself into his bed, back against his chest and his arm slung lazily over your hip, he remembers what he wanted to say to you in the first place, mouth dipping to your ear, “Notice anything about my penalty minutes?”

You turn over to give him a quizzical look, “There were none?”

“Correct,” he responds, a little too smug for his own good. “I told you I could do it.”

“Sorry I doubted you, baby,” you reply with playful amusement. “Let me make it up to you.”

Then, you’re giggling as you push him onto his back, his hands quickly finding your hips as you prop yourself above him and bring your lips down onto his.

[glossiercheek]

cuddling with them . ♡

includes: garrett graham, dean di laurentis, john logan & john tucker! ✾

𝄞 GARRETT GRAHAM

exam week was finally at its end. what’s better than celebrating your freedom with a good nap with your boyfriend?

“you’re too hot,” you mutter into garrett’s neck, his woody smell swirling in your nostrils. his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist whilst you pull the covers over your entangled bodies.

“i know, baby,” he smiles, teasing tone evident in his voice. you huff, of course he’d make a comment like that. you dig your chin further into his chest, almost as if you’re trying to crawl under your boyfriend’s skin. “missed you.” he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

that’s why you love garrett— that under the star hockey player, he can melt down to something so soft. cuddly. gooey, like a chocolate heart. his warmth surrounding you completely, leaving a sweet taste behind.

“you haven’t seen me in two days, garrett.”

your boyfriend pulls you impossibly closer. “yeah. two days too much.” his voice is sleepy, but he sounds somewhat resolute. one free hand snakes over your back, clenching the fabric of your hoodie in his hands. “not gonna let you go anytime soon, baby.”

𝄞 DEAN DI LAURENTIS

“did s’good for me, my love,” dean pushes a chaste kiss to your lips. his loose tee falls perfectly over your naked frame from your previous activities. “perfect for me.”

your body feels like jelly, adrenaline still bolting through your veins like lightning. his big hands clasp around your hips to pull you right on top of him. your eyes are on the verge of fluttering shut as dean presses wet dots of kisses to the inside of your wrist. “i fucking—” he presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, kneading the fat of your waist with his free hand. “love every part of you.”

“love you too,” you mutter, a floaty feeling swirling around in your belly again. “‘m tired.”

the quaint, mellow noise dawns on your shoulders. “eat something for me, love,” the blond whispers, breaking the silence, gripping a bowl of apple slices in his free hand, sitting up with you on his lap.

dean shares the apple slices with you. well, you eat most of them, and dean stares at while you munch on the fruit, whispering sweet nothings to you while your head rests against his bicep as you chew.

𝄞 JOHN LOGAN

today was not it. your lecture was too difficult, the words for your essay weren’t completely flowing, and it just felt like you were stuck. as the cherry on top, the customers at your part-time job were rude as hell, completely knocking you off balance. 

the only solution? crying your heart out in your boyfriend’s arms, in your boyfriend’s bed. with his jumper on. 

as soon as logan sees your pouty lips and your glassy eyes, he tackles you in a bear hug, pulling you with him on his bed. “tell me what happened, baby,” he says immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, already knowing you want to rant your heart out. 

his heartbeat calms you down as you snuggle into his chest, eyes still wet and nose still runny. he listens attentively to your problems, lightly carding his thick fingers through your hair to soothe you.

all the way until you’re completely relaxed, your breath evening out. “i got you, my love. always.” logan whispers to your sleeping figure, peppering light kisses all over your face as he tightens his grip around you.

𝄞 JOHN TUCKER

the room smells clean as you open your eyes, the brightness only mornings can bring piercing through your retinas. you have a busy day today, two long lectures, and you need to finish an essay you’ve been working on for the past few weeks. 

you try to get out of your boyfriend’s bed, but the moment you lift your weight off of the bed, tucker’s strong forearm pushes you back down again. “don’t go, baby,” he mumbles into your neck, his voice still heavy with sleep. 

“have to—” you grumble out, trying to lift your weight again. and of course, you fail again. “gotta meet up with my friends.”

tucker pushes his face into the crook of your neck with some sort of magnetic force before he presses a chaste kiss to the skin there. “just— ditch ‘em,” he proposes, pulling you closer into his chest without opening an eye. “‘m more important, right?”

you giggle melodically, voice still a little raspy. “please? snuggling with your boyfriend? i’ll make you a breakfast sandwich after, pretty.”

he pushes a disgustingly wet kiss to your cheek. “what do you say, huh?”

a/n: is this cringe or nahh i can't decide 😓

[logansleopard]

The King of Dramatics

pairing: beau maxwell x reader

warnings: mentions of blood, a small argument, cursing, kissing, slight jealously. straight fluff, pet names, reader has a fear of blood

a/n: i love beau so much. like thats my baby. a quick blurb xx

wc: ~0.9k

“Beau.”

Silence aside from the hum of gossip leaving the T.V of some random reality show you left on when you were eating pizza.

You roll his eyes at his dramatics.

“Beau,” You repeated. “It was just a follow request.”

He lets out some pathetic noise, some sort of grumble mixed with a huff. You raise an eyebrow as your eyes catch the faint shape of pouted lips from his turned head.

A few beats of silence pass by and it was quiet enough that you could hear Dean upstairs on the phone with Allie, someone in the bathroom and outside.

You finally speak.

“Are you seriously pouting?” You comment bluntly.

“No.”

You snort, “So now he speaks.”

He whirls his head towards you, eyes narrowed. “I could always speak.”

You hum, leaning away and settling into the couch.

“You could’ve fooled me,” You murmur, fingers mindlessly fidgeting with a piece of your hair. “My boyfriend, star Quarter-back, not answering me.. Ignoring me..”

“I wasn’t.”

You continue on playfully, “Ignoring me all because some guy followed me on Instagram.”

He goes quiet again.

You smirk, throwing a pillow at him. “See? I was right, babe.”

You expect him to answer but you get the response of him grabbing his phone and leaving the couch. Leaving the off-campus house in general.

You sit up, blinking. “Hey! You can’t just leave! You’re the one that invited me here!”

You got zero verbal answers.

With a huff, you lean back on the couch and increase the volume of the show.

“Whatever, you do whatever you want to do. Not my problem,” You mutter to yourself, too annoyed with the whole situation to notice the footsteps heading in your direction.

“Not my problem at all. I’m not in the wrong, tell yourself that,” You continue, “I—“

A loud clang and a scream of pain.

“What the fuck, Tucker!” You shout, your hand shooting out instantly to the back of your head.

Tucker gasps, dropping the metal frying pan. “Oh my god, I am sorry! I thought— Oh my god, there’s blood. Don’t move—Garrett! Call Beau— Or Hannah!— Oh my god, I’m a murderer.”

You squint your eyes. “Blood? I’m bleeding?—“ You slur out, blinking as your vision swims. “Tucker, I swear if I have a concussion..”

He smiles sheepishly, guiding you so you lay on the couch again. “You don’t! I’ll make you some pasta, yeah? Just—“

The scent of iron hits your nose.

Yup.

That’s blood.

And you hate blood.

Growing queasy, you swallow as you feel yourself tune out. “Tuck, I’m going to pass out. Call—“

But then you’re out.

Tucker curses as Garrett finally arrives downstairs and blinks.

“I’ll call Beau.” He states matter-of-factly.

-

When you gain consciousness, you feel a pair of lips against your face. You groan, moving away. “Get off..”

“No.”

You groan again, finally moving away. “Yes. I’m annoyed at you.”

He rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I think it’s the other way around, baby.”

You feel a cool sensation on the back of your head and you remember the frying pan.

“Is Tucker dead yet?”

In the background, you hear him chuckle nervously.

“Nope. He’s still standing.” Beau points out before sitting up. “You okay though?”

You hum, shifting. “I guess.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You guess?”

“Well, considering my boyfriend got up and left without a reason, I have every right to be ‘okay’ after being hit by a pan.”

“That was in the spur of a moment thing.”

“For not a big deal.”

“It was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was?”

“Wasn’t,” You sing song. “And for your information, I declined the request.”

Beau instantly melts. “You did?” He looks up at you expectantly.

You smirk. “I was lying.”

He whines, falling back and flopping around.

You giggle, reaching over to grab his jaw. “I’m joking, Beau-Peep.”

“You’re going to kill me one day, girl.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Since you called me a ‘girl’, maybe you shouldn’t get a kiss.”

Oh, he’s quick to react to that.

“What? No. I’m sorry, baby. Gotta give me a kiss after the day I had.”

“Did you get hit by a pan by a hockey player?”

He looks sheepish.

“No.. But my girlfriend almost got stolen from me.”

You smile softly, leaning in. He does at the same time, your lips locking gently. It was always so gentle and sweet with him.

“I love you, Beau.” You murmur softly against his lips, brushing your fingers along the back of his neck. You try to get up.

Beau murmurs a tired “Love you more” back to you. He makes a soft noise, already latching his arms around you. “No. Don’t leave me.”

You laugh, warm and fuzzy. “Baby.”

“Please.”

Who are you to deny him?

[ficdelusioncore]

Fix It ୨୧

Summary: Your boyfriend, John Logan, uses the repairs needed in your dorm as an excuse to visit you and spend the entire day with you, so you make him understand that he doesn't need an excuse to spend time with you.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.

You both were coming out of the shower, but when he didn't follow you out of the bathroom, you looked at him, still standing in the shower, still naked and looking at the showerhead like it had personally offended him.

“Logan,” you called, taking him out of his trance.

“Since when has your showerhead been dripping like that?” he asked, coming out and wrapping the towel around his waist.

You looked at him like another head had popped up from his neck.

“I dunno, since always, I guess,” you mumbled once you realized he was serious.

“I’ll come tomorrow and fix it.”

“I have the girlfriend discount?”

He looked at you, offended.

“You don't have to pay a thing for it, babe,” he assured you, leaving a kiss on your lips.

You just giggled at it, not really paying attention to it.

But it happened again. Logan always found something to fix in your dorm: the sink, the old armchair that was wobbly, some furniture that you assembled and he found a screw that wasn't properly inserted. It all continued, and you didn't mind because you thought that maybe it was his love language until one day you found him wandering around your dorm looking at all the furniture, or anything that could be even slightly broken, until he found something. He called you over and said,

“I’ll come tomorrow and fix it.”

You half-closed your eyes, watching as he approached you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to his chest. You had to raise your gaze to look him in the eyes and tried not to melt at those brown puppy eyes.

“What?” he asked, seeing how suspiciously you looked at him.

“You always say that,” you pointed out. “If you want to see me, you just have to knock on my door.” You could see how he blushed at your words, but he quickly tried to hide it.

“Your furniture is shit, baby. If I can fix it, I will,” he made an excuse, even though it was partly true. You knew it was an excuse.

“And you always find a way to fix things.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Don’t do that.” He frowned, doing a small pout.

“Do what?” you tried to hide your smile at his reaction.

John was like a big puppy, but that part of him was reserved for you and only you.

“Roll your eyes at me.”

You just laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

“Sorry, babe,” you said into the kiss.

His answer was to place a hand on the back of your head, making the kiss deeper.

Since then, you knew your boyfriend looked for things to repair in your dorm as an excuse to come back the next day, which you found unnecessary. I mean, you loved seeing your boyfriend fixing things. It was your favorite activity, and your dorm had improved a lot since he'd been doing it, but you wanted him to understand that, for you, it wasn't too much to see him every day or have him in your room.

After all, you had much more privacy at your place than at his.

You wanted Logan to understand that he didn't need an excuse to see you and spend time together. You would open the door for him at three in the morning or even give him a copy of your key so he could get in by himself.

So you made a plan.

When he left, you made sure that everything, every piece of furniture around the house, anything that he could try to fix, was actually in good condition. You found a couple of things and called somebody to fix them, saying it was an emergency even though it wasn't, but it was for you.

By the next day, Logan came back to your dorm to fix what he had found, and then you two lay on the bed watching a movie when suddenly,

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, standing up.

You knew he wasn't.

“You want me to pause it?” you asked, acting like you didn't know what he was going to do.

“No, no, I'll be right back,” he said, disappearing through the door.

You continued the movie. He was gonna be gone a while, so you just waited, and waited, and waited until you heard a frustrated moan through the door. You smiled, pausing the movie and walking towards your boyfriend, finding Logan lying on his back under the sink, staring at the pipes as if they had betrayed him.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

He looked at you like he had just been caught breaking the law. He immediately stood up.

“Yeah, I... I thought I heard something from the pipes. I thought they might be clogged or something,” he said quickly, walking towards you.

“You fixed them last week,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, let's go back to the movie.”

The rest of the day was Logan trying to find something to fix. He was subtle at first, but the hours passed and he grew frustrated, stopping being subtle and just getting mad that he wouldn't have an excuse to come back tomorrow.

Late at night, it was time for him to go back to his house, though he stood in your living room looking around like a lost puppy. You felt bad for a moment.

“You don't need anything?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” You looked at him, confused.

“Anything. Move furniture or go to the grocery store. I could help you,” he said, trying to act casual.

He failed.

You just shook your head.

“No. Babe, it's late. You should go. It's dangerous to drive at night.”

He stayed in his place, scanning the room again.

You surrendered at that moment. He looked so cute with his brown eyes looking for something to fix and his brain working so hard to find an excuse to come back tomorrow.

“Logan, babe,” you stood up from the couch and walked towards him. “You know you don't need to fix something to come back tomorrow. I appreciate you doing it, but if you want to come and hang out, you don't need an excuse. I'll open that door the moment you knock.” You smiled at him, cupping his face with your hands.

He finally looked into your eyes.

“I... I know.”

“Do you?” You narrowed your eyes.

He sighed.

“I just... I don't want to seem clingy or scare you off or something,” he finally admitted to you.

That made your heart melt.

You left a kiss on his cheek and a long one on his lips, making him smile through the kiss as he placed his hands on your hips.

“You could never do anything to scare me off, much less seem clingy,” you whispered against his lips. “I love you, John.”

“I love you too,” he whispered your name before trapping your lips in a much more intense kiss.

It could have continued and ended another way, but you broke the kiss, not wanting him to go back to his house too late.

“Go, before I change my mind,” you threatened him playfully.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, leaving a kiss on your temple.

“See you tomorrow,” you assured him.

He disappeared through your door, but before he left, he stole another kiss from your lips that made you smile and warmed your heart.

God, you loved John Logan.

[ficdelusioncore]

Fix It ୨୧

Summary: Your boyfriend, John Logan, uses the repairs needed in your dorm as an excuse to visit you and spend the entire day with you, so you make him understand that he doesn't need an excuse to spend time with you.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.

You both were coming out of the shower, but when he didn't follow you out of the bathroom, you looked at him, still standing in the shower, still naked and looking at the showerhead like it had personally offended him.

“Logan,” you called, taking him out of his trance.

“Since when has your showerhead been dripping like that?” he asked, coming out and wrapping the towel around his waist.

You looked at him like another head had popped up from his neck.

“I dunno, since always, I guess,” you mumbled once you realized he was serious.

“I’ll come tomorrow and fix it.”

“I have the girlfriend discount?”

He looked at you, offended.

“You don't have to pay a thing for it, babe,” he assured you, leaving a kiss on your lips.

You just giggled at it, not really paying attention to it.

But it happened again. Logan always found something to fix in your dorm: the sink, the old armchair that was wobbly, some furniture that you assembled and he found a screw that wasn't properly inserted. It all continued, and you didn't mind because you thought that maybe it was his love language until one day you found him wandering around your dorm looking at all the furniture, or anything that could be even slightly broken, until he found something. He called you over and said,

“I’ll come tomorrow and fix it.”

You half-closed your eyes, watching as he approached you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to his chest. You had to raise your gaze to look him in the eyes and tried not to melt at those brown puppy eyes.

“What?” he asked, seeing how suspiciously you looked at him.

“You always say that,” you pointed out. “If you want to see me, you just have to knock on my door.” You could see how he blushed at your words, but he quickly tried to hide it.

“Your furniture is shit, baby. If I can fix it, I will,” he made an excuse, even though it was partly true. You knew it was an excuse.

“And you always find a way to fix things.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Don’t do that.” He frowned, doing a small pout.

“Do what?” you tried to hide your smile at his reaction.

John was like a big puppy, but that part of him was reserved for you and only you.

“Roll your eyes at me.”

You just laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

“Sorry, babe,” you said into the kiss.

His answer was to place a hand on the back of your head, making the kiss deeper.

Since then, you knew your boyfriend looked for things to repair in your dorm as an excuse to come back the next day, which you found unnecessary. I mean, you loved seeing your boyfriend fixing things. It was your favorite activity, and your dorm had improved a lot since he'd been doing it, but you wanted him to understand that, for you, it wasn't too much to see him every day or have him in your room.

After all, you had much more privacy at your place than at his.

You wanted Logan to understand that he didn't need an excuse to see you and spend time together. You would open the door for him at three in the morning or even give him a copy of your key so he could get in by himself.

So you made a plan.

When he left, you made sure that everything, every piece of furniture around the house, anything that he could try to fix, was actually in good condition. You found a couple of things and called somebody to fix them, saying it was an emergency even though it wasn't, but it was for you.

By the next day, Logan came back to your dorm to fix what he had found, and then you two lay on the bed watching a movie when suddenly,

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, standing up.

You knew he wasn't.

“You want me to pause it?” you asked, acting like you didn't know what he was going to do.

“No, no, I'll be right back,” he said, disappearing through the door.

You continued the movie. He was gonna be gone a while, so you just waited, and waited, and waited until you heard a frustrated moan through the door. You smiled, pausing the movie and walking towards your boyfriend, finding Logan lying on his back under the sink, staring at the pipes as if they had betrayed him.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

He looked at you like he had just been caught breaking the law. He immediately stood up.

“Yeah, I... I thought I heard something from the pipes. I thought they might be clogged or something,” he said quickly, walking towards you.

“You fixed them last week,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, let's go back to the movie.”

The rest of the day was Logan trying to find something to fix. He was subtle at first, but the hours passed and he grew frustrated, stopping being subtle and just getting mad that he wouldn't have an excuse to come back tomorrow.

Late at night, it was time for him to go back to his house, though he stood in your living room looking around like a lost puppy. You felt bad for a moment.

“You don't need anything?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” You looked at him, confused.

“Anything. Move furniture or go to the grocery store. I could help you,” he said, trying to act casual.

He failed.

You just shook your head.

“No. Babe, it's late. You should go. It's dangerous to drive at night.”

He stayed in his place, scanning the room again.

You surrendered at that moment. He looked so cute with his brown eyes looking for something to fix and his brain working so hard to find an excuse to come back tomorrow.

“Logan, babe,” you stood up from the couch and walked towards him. “You know you don't need to fix something to come back tomorrow. I appreciate you doing it, but if you want to come and hang out, you don't need an excuse. I'll open that door the moment you knock.” You smiled at him, cupping his face with your hands.

He finally looked into your eyes.

“I... I know.”

“Do you?” You narrowed your eyes.

He sighed.

“I just... I don't want to seem clingy or scare you off or something,” he finally admitted to you.

That made your heart melt.

You left a kiss on his cheek and a long one on his lips, making him smile through the kiss as he placed his hands on your hips.

“You could never do anything to scare me off, much less seem clingy,” you whispered against his lips. “I love you, John.”

“I love you too,” he whispered your name before trapping your lips in a much more intense kiss.

It could have continued and ended another way, but you broke the kiss, not wanting him to go back to his house too late.

“Go, before I change my mind,” you threatened him playfully.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, leaving a kiss on your temple.

“See you tomorrow,” you assured him.

He disappeared through your door, but before he left, he stole another kiss from your lips that made you smile and warmed your heart.

God, you loved John Logan.

[fezrus]

Seven steps, one word

John Logan (Off Campus) x Reader

from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.

word count : 6.1k (sorry) — enemies to lovers, kind of — logan is moody — SMUT, minors DNI — Enjoy and please tell me what you think !

One — "Oh, fuck!"

The music wasn’t just loud; it was vibrating through the old floorboards and thumping directly against your ribs. You’d only been there for twenty minutes, entirely dragged along by Hannah, who was currently tucked under Garrett’s arm near the doorway. Watching them was sweet—almost nauseatingly so—but it left you feeling like a ghost drifting through a sea of oversized jerseys, loud hockey players, and the thick scent of cheap beer. For the most part, the rest of the boys were incredibly welcoming; even though you'd just met them tonight, they were already loud, inherently kind and easy to be around.

​Except for John Logan.

You hadn’t actually been introduced to him yet, but you’d felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.

​Navigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.

​You stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didn’t fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Logan’s Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.

​​Logan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."

​The sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. It’s just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."

​"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.

​You stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Logan’s just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."

​You forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.

Two — "Fuck you"

A few weeks later, the initial friction hadn’t dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circle—fiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.

​The breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.

​The back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tucker’s shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. ​"You’re using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. You’re going to tank your thesis statement with those."

​Tucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thought—"

​"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.

​Logan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"

​"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."

​Logan’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.

​"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."

​"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "You’ve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."

​Logan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyes—the look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."

​"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.

​"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."

​"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."

​"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."

​"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."

​"I dont—," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."

​"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."

​The air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. ​He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.

"Fuck you," he whispered.

​The words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. ​Before you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."

​But the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.

​"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannah’s reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.

Three — "Fuck off"

​For the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.

Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like that—but your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.

​There were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door,  silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.

​Eventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.

​The club was a massive sensory overload—flashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.

​Logan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didn’t look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three — a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.

A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey — but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.

​Before you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.

​A now familiar hand gripped the frat guy’s shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.

​"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."

​The guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.

​Logan’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.

​"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.

​The exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.

​The noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcohol—it all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces. 

Four — "What the fuck"

The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.

​A week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Malone’s. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.

​You were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.

​He didn’t approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.

​Prickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.

​You pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."

​Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.

​"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.

​You rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."

​The playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Hey… are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.

You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

​He seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Jules’ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University just… talked.

​"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."

​"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"

​"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smile—the first real one he'd ever received from you—and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

​Inside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

​"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.

Five — "Well, fuck"

​The night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Malone’s was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the evening—the regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.

​You had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.

Logan was entirely in his element—charming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.

​Around midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.

​You spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Logan’s broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.

​"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."

​Logan’s dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."

​You didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."

​You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Logan’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.

A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.

​"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.

​"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye — it was a promise.

Six — "Fuck"

Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.

​But you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets — constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.

​Seeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.

​Logan stepped out.

You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.

​Neither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.

​Logan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.

​Before the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.

​It was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhere—clutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.

​"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.

​With a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.

​You arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.

​"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."

​"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Logan’s eyes rolled back.

His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."

With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sink—Dean’s emergency stash—and ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.

Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.

The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.

"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.

The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.

The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Logan’s pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.

You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.

He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.

That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.

Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.

Seven — "Fuck it"

Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirror—re-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingers—but the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.

​The exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.

Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Logan’s jawline.

​"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."

Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were just—"

But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.

Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feud—it all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.

"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.

Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.

Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"

When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.

just posted a new John Logan fic <3

my latest fic ♡

[jjtsu-ho3]

OH. MY. GOD

john logan obsession has evolved into smth unhinge-ier. shit.

[loveyoubunchies]

Sweet Surprises

John Logan x fem!reader

Summary: You adored your boyfriend, John Logan, with every bone in your body. Which is why you decided to throw him his very first surprised party. Except this happened to be the one time having a clingy boyfriend had it's downsides

Warnings: FLUFF, slightish bit of angst

A/N: Giving you something sweet! I really loved writing this. Lowkey one of my favorites.

Main Masterlist

After dating Logan for nearly a year, you liked to think you knew almost everything about him. You knew what made him laugh, his favorite hockey players, movies he enjoyed and video games he played. You also knew about his upbringing that shaped him into the most emotionally aware and caring boyfriend you’d ever had. But there was one thing you knew about Logan that you wanted to change.

Throwing him a surprise birthday!

He mentioned it on the off hand when you were telling him about your own 18th surprise party where your friends pretended to forget your birthday before walking into a party later that night. It was one of the most memorable events where you felt so loved. And you wanted that for Logan. Remind him that he was loved.

So the planning started. You had exactly two weeks to pull off the best surprise party of them all. You enlisted his teammates, Hannah, Allie and Jules. 

—

“Hey pretty,” Logan murmured, startling you as his arms wrapped around your waist as you were working by the kitchen counter. 

You were spending the night since you were away last weekend for a club retreat and Logan was being more clingier than usual.

While normally you’d relax into his hold, this time your laptop screen has the group chat pulled up and other websites. Instead you froze in his hold, quickly swiping desktops before he could catch a glimpse.

You felt guilty when Logan gave you a weird look but the expression didn’t last when you turned to pressed a kiss to the corner of his lip. He smelled fresh as his hair was still damp from the shower, which is why you wanted to sneak in some extra planning time.

“Whatcha working on?”  he mumbled, head now buried in the crook of your neck. You giggled feeling his stubble against your soft skin.

“Just a group project for class,” you said, interlacing your hand with his fingers splayed across your waist. You stayed in his embrace for a second feeling his breath tickle the back of your neck.

Him seemed satisfied with your answer, pulling away slightly to spin you around in his arms so you’d face him. God you loved him so much. Every smile he gave you was just another reminder that your party planning skills had to be on top of it.

“Thought you were done with midterms,” Logan hummed.

“Yeah my marketing class is just OD,” you shrugged.

“You have Donovan right? I can give you my slides from last semester if you need help.”

Your heart clenched at his thoughtfulness. That presentation wasn’t actually until the end of the month but the fact Logan still offered you support made you love him even more.

“Thanks,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he hummed, “Lemme cook dinner since you’re working.”

“It’s fine Logan,” you said, “I can help.”

“Nah I got it beautiful,” he assured, pressing a quick kiss to your head.

God you loved this man. Which is why this party needed to be perfect.

—

Things got worse as the date crept forward. Logan was a clingy boyfriend which normally you wouldn’t complain about until you realized you had no way of secretly communicating with anyone if he was in the room. He was always in arms distance, not in a possessive way but more in a sense he couldn’t stand the thought of there being a single inch of space between you if you were in the same room.

You were sitting on the counter in the garage while he was changing the oil of his car. Normally you would spend the time ogling him and talking about your day but today you were distracted. In between sneaking glances of him shirtless you were firing texts to Garrett, Dean, and Tucker about food details and to see if a certain birthday gift was possible. They were annoyingly slow at responding.

“You’re awfully quiet, pretty,” Logan said, turning his attention from the car to you.

Your brows were furrowed as you were trying to make sense of Dean’s cryptic texts and your legs seining back and forth impatiently. You were distracted by the amount of recipes Tucker sent and the lack of engagement from Garrett that you hadn’t realized Logan had wiped his hands and made his way over to you.

“Baby,” he hummed, leaning into your space.

“Hmm,” you replied before glancing up from your phone and seeing he was inches away from you.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” you smiled, lowering your phone.

“You’ve been looking at the phone more than me this whole time. And I’m literally half naked,” he pouted, moving a hand to grip your waist.

You chuckled at his complaint but put your phone down next to you to wrap your arms around his neck drawing him closer. Your noses brushed as you looked into those beautiful brown eyes you adored.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Then you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips as an apology. Logan instantly reacted, deepening the kiss like a starved man. His grip tightened around your waist while one hand reached up to cup your jaw. Your own hands tangled into his soft hair as you let out a soft moan when his tongue met yours. Your bodies were now flushed against each other as you felt his hot bare skin against your clothed body. Logan began to press kisses down your neck while your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist to pull him closer.

Just as Logan began to grind into you, gripping your thighs your phone began to ring. 

Fuck it was probably Garrett getting back to you about that favor.

You broke away to check your screen to confirm your suspicions but Logan kept kissing your neck, not wanting to stop.

“Do you seriously have to take that?” Logan said into your skin.

Garrett wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.

You pulled away, placing a hand on his chest to allow yourself some space to hop off the counter.

“Sorry it’s my group calling about the project,” you said, quickly rushing outside to take the call. You made sure to give him a quick kiss before leaving.

Logan let out a defeated sigh watching you go. A feeling of unease began to brew in his stomach as he blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating Garrett’s caller ID on your phone.

You wouldn’t lie to him, right?

—

Logan’s birthday was a week away and you had somewhat finalized your plans. 

Everyone agreed that it would be best for you two to have a dinner date and then to bring him back to the hockey house. The group was going to set everything up as you were out. You had also been practicing your baking skills for the past week which meant you had accidentally set of your fire alarm twice. But you were confident now that the final product would be great.

The only problem was that Logan had a birthday tradition of bringing all his friends to his childhood diner somewhere in Hastings. You had joined him last year as his new girlfriend and he was so happy to be surrounded by you and all his teammates. Which is why it was horrible breaking the news that it would only be you two this year.

“I’m sorry babe,” you hummed, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah it just sucks. I’m not the biggest fan of birthdays but I thought they’d at least remember to save the date,” Logan sighed, frowning down at you.

In reality, Garrett wasn’t visiting Hannah’s parents and Tucker and Dean weren’t going to this once in a lifetime concert. They were staying back to decorate the house. 

You told yourself the look on his face during the surprise would be worth it but in the moment you wished you could tell him the truth. He’d been on edge all week with practices.

“Hey we’re going to have a fun night though,” you offered, wrapping your arms around his middle to pull him closer.

“Yeah,” he said, but his eyes still looked sad.

You rested your head against his chest as his arms stroked your side in the comforting embrace. You could tell he was frustrated with the situation but didn’t want to talk about it.

You knew Logan had trouble expressing his emotions which was a bit of a road bump in the beginning of your relationship. You learned that you needed to be patient with him or else he’d isolate himself. Although since you’ve been together Logan has been great at communicating. Almost too good as you listen to all his wild tangents and stories that led him to his emotional conclusion.

Your phone kept buzzing in your back pocket which was starting to cut through the comforting moment that Logan released you.

“I’ll let you get that,” he said hurt laced in his voice, before walking toward the stairs.

“It’s nothing,” you assured, feeling like you were adding salt to the wound.

You knew you’ve been distracted by your phone these past weeks that Logan started to catch on. Although you tried to assure him it wasn’t anything it seemed he wasn’t buying it. Hence him closing himself off.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he said and then disappeared up the stairs.

You let out a defeated sigh but you could try to make it up to him with cuddles. Checking your phone you instantly smiled seeing Garrett was able to seal the last surprise in your plan.

You just hoped Logan won’t get even sadder that he wouldn’t want to celebrate his birthday.

—

The day finally arrived and you were a frazzled mess. You sent out all your final texts as Logan was still in the shower getting ready for dinner. 

Logan’s Super Surprise Party

You

We’re about to leave! DON’T go in yet until I say so

Garrett

Yes Captain

Tucker

All the food is ready!

Hannah

I’m so excited!!!

Allie

Finalized the playlist with Justin and Dean this morning

You

Thank you guys!!! I really hope he likes it

Jules

Oh he will. Mostly because you planned it and he likes anything you do.

You rolled your eyes at Jules' playful text and tucked your phone into your shoulder bag. You had slept over the night before since all his roommates were allegedly out of town but in reality they were all just staying at their respective girlfriend’s places to keep up the act.

“Don’t you look pretty?” Logan drawled, walking in with just a towel around his waist.

You were putting the last touches to your lip combo to match the cute denim skirt and white blouse you were wearing. 

“Hey birthday boy,” you smiled.

Logan wasted no time planting a kiss on your lips which ruined your entire three step lip combo process. When he pulled away there were remnants of gloss staining his own lips.

“Logannnn,” you whined, rubbing your thumb over his lips to wipe off the make up. He kissed your thumb while you glared at him.

“You ruined my lip combo,” you sighed, immediately releasing him to fix your liner.

Logan just chuckled, “Worth it,” before throwing on some jeans and a plain black top.

You were jealous that he looked effortlessly good in everything while you spent an hour looking through the duffel bag of clothes for the perfect outfit.

“Ready to go gorgeous?” he hummed, grabbing his keys.

You gave a nod and happily bounced into his embrace. He stuck a hand in the back pocket of your jean skirt, leading you to the car unaware all his friends were waiting down the block.

—

Once you got to the diner, both you and Logan slid into the booth where you had your first date. He was grinning so hard you wouldn’t think he was moping yesterday about all his friends leaving.

“What are the odds?” he smiled.

You just shrugged. You had called the place earlier to save the booth. He didn’t need to know that.

“Whatcha gonna get?” you asked, scanning the menu.

“The usual. Double patty cheeseburger and fries,” he said, “And an extra side of fries so you don’t steal any of mine.”

You gave him a playful glare as you scanned the options. You’d probably do a tuna melt.

You two ordered quickly and began to discuss nothing and everything. Logan talked about his transformer’s themed 6th birthday while you laughed looking at images of a tiny Logan. When the food did come you were grateful for that extra side of fries as Logan gave you a look every time you reached for the basket.

Everything was perfect until your phone began to ring. You had put it on do not disturb but they must’ve bypassed it.

You subtly checked to see the caller ID which was Garrett. Logan looked at you with a certain look that made your heart ache.

“I need to use the bathroom,” you said, getting up.

“Yeah sure,” he mumbled.

In the bathroom you scrolled to see the flood of texts from people asking for party details and when Logan was coming.

“Garrett I’m at dinner,” you hissed.

“I know but we’re having trouble finding the cake.”

“What do you mean—Oh shit it’s in my dorm,” you sighed.

“Is Grace already on her way?” Garrett asked.

“Let me text her,” you said, firing off some messages.

Thankfully Grace was just about to leave before you caught her. She confirmed she could bring the cake which made you take a breath of relief.

“Grace is on her way with the cake,” you confirmed.

“Great, just text when you leave. Or I guess Grace has your location,” Garrett said.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said before hanging up.

When you got back to the booth Logan was scrolling on his phone looking a bit defeated. You caught the waitress’ attention as his back was turned to you, paying the bill secretly knowing Logan would never let you pick up a check even if it was his birthday. 

Your waitress smiled at you, taking your card allowing you to return to your boyfriend. You slide in the spot next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before stealing a fry off his plate.

“Did you miss me handsome?” you teased watching Logan’s expression change as he took in your sight.

“I always miss you,” he hummed, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Logan didn’t get a chance to answer as the waitress came back with your card. 

“You’re all set,” she smiled.

Logan gave you an alarmed look watching you quickly write in a generous tip which you had to force yourself not to smile too hard. 

“You didn’t have to pay,” he murmured, arms pulling you closer to brush his lips against your ear.

“It’s your birthday,” you said sheepishly, “Lemme spoil you at least once.”

“How did I get so lucky?” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

"I'm the lucky one," you teased back which made Logan pepper your forehead with kisses to prove his point.

–

The car ride was peaceful for the most part. One of Logan’s hands was intertwined with yours as he drove through the dimly lit streets. You were buzzing with excitement as you pulled onto Hawk street. Your phone dinged which you let go of his hand to answer that you would be there in a minute.

Logan frowned at the loss of contact. He let out a sigh and began to let out everything he was feeling,

“Are we good?”

Your heart sank. You looked over to him with a shocked look on your face but Logan just looked defeated.

“Are you cheating on me?” he whispered.

“What!” you exclaimed, “Absolutely not!”

“Well you’re always on your phone,” he sighed, shutting off the car as you pulled into the driveway.

“Logan, look at me,” you said, tilting his chin to look at you.

He looked so sad that it made your heart also break. You just needed to get him inside and all would be well.

“We’re perfect,” you said, pressing a quick kiss, “Let’s get inside and I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

He let out a defeated sigh but still opened up the door. You also got out and grabbed his hand as you made your way to the porch. You subtly angled your body so Logan would be in front when you entered. As he fumbled with his keys you secretly began recording for the memories.

As soon as Logan managed to open the door the house lights flicked on to reveal the crowd of people in his living room.

“Surprise!” everyone exclaimed leaving Logan’s jaw on the floor.

You eagerly pushed for him to go inside as his friends engulfed him in hugs and praises. 

“Happy birthday old man,” Jules said, embracing their brother.

“You should see your face,” Dean grinned, giving him a nudge, “We totally had you fooled.”

“Yeah, what kind of friends would we be ditching your birthday for a concert?” Tucker chided.

“Happy birthday man,” Garrett smiled, bringing his best friend into a hug.

“Thanks guys,” Logan said, still trying to process it all, "How'd you guys do all this?

“Well you have a pretty awesome girlfriend,” Hannah said, nodding to where you were shyly standing behind him.

Logan turned to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you as close as possible. He gave you a squeeze as his eyes began to fill with tears with how happy he was.

“Happy birthday Logan,” you smiled, pecking his lips.

“You did this all for me?” he asked, looking around to the decorated room filled with all the people he loved.

“Of course,” you said, “You deserve good things. And that’s not even it.”

His brows popped up as Garrett pulled out his phone to reveal a video. After weeks of begging and intense networking, you and Garrett managed to get a personal birthday video from Logan’s current favorite player on the Bruins.

“Happy birthday John Logan,” David Pastrnak said with the Bruins’ rink in the background, “Heard you’re a beast on the ice so hopefully one day we can skate together. You got some good friends, make sure to celebrate tonight.”

“What the fuck,” Logan said, turning to you and Garrett.

You both gave him a non-chalant shrug as he squeezed you tighter. He pressed a kiss to your hair as you giggled seeing him so happy.

Later, you snuck away letting Logan talk to his teammates to go light the cake. Grace was helping you with the candles and gathering everyone to the kitchen. Dean turned off the light as you all sang a loud ‘Happy Birthday’ to Logan who was smiling widely in the middle. 

He blew out the candles with no problem making everyone cheer in response. You could barely set the cake down before Logan had his hands all over you. 

“You bake this yourself?” Logan hummed, noticing the slightly uneven frosting letters.

“Don’t judge me,” you frowned.

“I’m not. I’m just falling in love with you even more,” he hummed, accepting the knife to begin cutting the cake.

He took a bite and grinned, "Tastes amazing gorgeous."

Soon the party started to die down. You and Logan were chatting with Garrett and Hannah until the couple excused themselves for suspicious reasons that had you making sure to sprint past Garrett’s door later.

“You have fun?” you hummed, turning to face Logan.

“Of course baby. Thank you,” he smiled.

“This was a much better surprise than what you were thinking in the car huh?” you teased, playfully poking his ribs.

“Much better,” Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

“It’s ok,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I would’ve reacted way worse if it was the other way around.”

“I’m such an idiot for even thinking those thoughts. I mean you threw a fucking surprise party for me. You’re perfect,” he said, “I love you.”

“I love you too John Logan,” you smiled, “Happy birthday.”

You both leaned in for the kiss as everything else faded away. When he pulled away he whispered against your lips

“Best birthday ever.”